The Mockingjay's Daughter
by kenzyhope2010
Summary: This takes place thirty years after the end of the rebellion, from the perspective of Katniss' daughter. Peeta and Katniss are living in the rebuilt 12, dealing with nightmares and raising their kids, Asher and Daie. The POV is Daie's. Please review and favourite, this is going to take a long time to tell...stick with it! You guys are AWESOME!
1. Chapter 1

The day dawns blustery, windy and cold. I dress quickly-leggings and lace-up boots, a tunic and my mother's old leather jacket. I tug a hat over my curls-my mother says I get them from my grandfather, who died when she was eleven- and tiptoe out into the hall.

The Village is silent. There are no victors anymore, haven't been since before I was born, so the Victor's Village is just the Village now. Haymitch lives across the green, as well as anyone who can afford the upkeep of the fine houses.

I slip through the house with my mother's stealth. Everyone says I'm a miniature of her, except for my father's blue eyes and the curls. I inherited so much of her-the hunting, the stealth, the stubbornness. But I haven't inherited the nightmares.

Sometimes when I wake up at night I can hear her screaming. When Asher was little he used to crawl into my bed with me, but now that he's fourteen and I'm almost seventeen, that doesn't happen anymore. Besides, he turned annoying just months after he started crawling in with me, and hasn't even been in my room since.

I leave my house, gently closing the door behind me. I cross the green, the frosty grass crunching under my boots and my breath making clouds in the air, until I've reached the pen outside Haymitch's house. The geese are all huddled in their shed. Haymitch is too geriatric and too forgetful to pay much attention to them, so I do.

I can see people crossing the Meadow in the pale morning light, people who work at the medicines factory. Then air is always pungent with the sharp smell of it by noon. There are worse things, though. They used to mine coal, but the mines only stopped smoking a decade ago, over twenty years after 12 was firebombed. The mine is gone.

There's a road, more of a wide gravel trail, that leads through the woods to 13 no one travels on. Traffic scares away game, so that's good, but it's a reminder to so many of war and loss. You can see it from here, curving up from the square. You can see lots from the Village. I can see the rebuilt homes and shops ringing the square, bits of the markets-the newly reborn Hob and the real, estimable market- and the train station and warehouses they use to store and cart medicine. I pause, shivering, to watch tiny people move around the city.

I grab the feed bucket and scatter some seeds, then bang my way into Haymitch's house yelling "Get up, Haymitch! Time to feed the geese!"

Haymitch grunts, non-committal, from the living room. The place is cluttered and messy, but at least there's no food on the floor today. I put the coffeepot on, fill the goose bowl with fresh water, and yell at Haymitch to clean his kitchen. He grunts as he shuffles by, dressed in a bathrobe and socks. I look away.

"Take a bath, Haymitch," I say, disgusted.

"You are _so_ your mother," he mumbles, disgruntled.

I roll my eyes. Everyone says that. Haymitch himself said it yesterday.

Outside, the lights are on in almost all the houses now. It's still early, but kids will be heading to school. You go until sixth grade and then you learn whatever you need to learn to stay alive. Both my parents had money form when they won the unspeakable Hunger Games, but it's gone now. They didn't want it. I get it. Now, my father owns a bakery in town, mostly run by employees now, while my mother spends her days in the woods, working on the house.

It's a little cabin, four miles into the woods and three miles from the lake. My mother loves it. It's full of things from her happy life, completely free of painful memories. It keeps her busy, something to work on. Besides that she hunts, feeding some of the poorer families in 12, since I hunt for us now. She also works on the family book, and she's even gone so far as to visit people. People from the old life, friends she met in 13 who came back, people who helped put her back together again after the rebellion, people she feeds. It makes her happy. So do I, she says.

She calls me Prim. My name is Daie, Daie Primrose Everdeen. Daie as in "dawning of a new", Primrose for the little sister who died years before I was even thought of. I kept my mother's name; so did Asher. My father is the last of the Mellarks. He wants to name to die with him, to eliminate it from the world. My father blames himself for a lot of what happened in the rebellion, so when he dies, he wants his name and all it was associated with to die with him. My mother wanted that too, but my father said te Everdeens had done too much good. "Think of Prim," he said.

So I'm an Everdeen.

I think the reason I make my mother happy is that I remind her of herself, only just "the good part" of her. My mother has killed people. She is responsible for the murders of thousands of others. But it's all right. She saved everyone else.

She doesn't believe it.

She loves my brother desperately, too. Asher Finnick Everdeen. Asher as in "ashes," as in "beauty from ashes". "Finnick" for the tribute who died so close to freedom. We see his son, Corin Odair, when he comes to 12 on business. Asher is a lot like my father, charismatic and funny and good with words. That's why my mother loves him, because he's like Dad.

Dad loves us so much, too. He's steady as a rock while my mother can be volatile. Haunted an devastated by memories as she is, there have been days when she's in her room in the dark, unable to believe she's safe.

I reach the house and poke my head in. It smells like coffee and cinnamon bread. Asher is slumped at the kitchen table, glowering a little, his nose buried in a history book. He's obsessed with history.

Dad is making toast. He grins at me. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Peeta!" My mother yells form upstairs. "Do you know where my bow is?"

"No, Katniss," He calls back.

"Daie?"

I blush. "I've got it," I yell.

"You have your own!"

"Yours is better!"

It hums awake in your hand and looks so beautiful, but it's so deadly. My bow is old and made out of wood. Comparison? I think not.

"Daie Primrose Everdeen, please go get my bow." My mother calls, exasperated, appearing on the stairs. She looks a lot younger than she is, thirty at most. Her hair hangs in a braid down her back and her face is sprinkled with scars.

"Yes ma'am," I say, running up to my bedroom and grabbing the bow. "I was using it for the late geese yesterday," I explain sheepishly.

"Just ask next time, okay Prim?" She asks wearily, ruffling my hair.

"Okay," I whisper as she brushes by me on the stairs.

I grab my own bow and arrows, plant a kiss on Dad's cheek and slip out.

"No breakfast?" Dad calls after me.

"I want an early start," I call back. "Will you be here when I get back?"

"Both of us will," my mother says, running her hand through Dad's ashy blonde hair.

"Bye," I call.

Outside, it's still cold, but geese honk in the distance. It got cold so fast, most of the geese hadn't flown south yet. Their V formations dot the sky, easy pickings.

I sprint for the Resting Place, the mass grave they used to call the Meadow, where I can get a clear shot at the birds as they fly overhead. You would never know what the Resting Place was by looking at it. A field dotted with a rainbow of wildflowers in the summer, bordered by woods and 12, it's picturesque. You can see everything from where the ground slopes up to meet the woods.

I go to one knee and fit an arrow into my bow, squinting at the pale grey expanse of sky. My heart pounds rhythmically in my ears, my breath is measured. This is why I love hunting-I was born for it.

The V formation sails into view. I let the arrow fly, taking out the leader. The geese erupt in noise and grind to a halt, flapping aimlessly in the air, complete idiots. I take down another three before they have the sense to get going. This happens in the timespan of a minute, if that, lightning fast and on autopilot. I lower my bow, breathless and pink- cheeked.

"Katniss?" Comes a voice.

I turn. A man who looks like a Seamie stands at the edge of the meadow, his face disbelieving. He's well-muscled, with dark hair and grey eyes and olive skin. He looks vaguely familiar.

"Katniss is my mother," I say, getting to my feet and crossing uncertainly to him. "Can I help you?

"Your mother?" he says in disbelief. I arch an eyebrow. "Yeah, my mother."

"And she said she'd never have kids," he murmurs. I step back, startled. So he knows her, then, or at least knew her well before I was born. "Who's your father? No, let me guess,' he says softly, his voice slightly bitter. "Those are his eyes."

"Whose eyes?" I challenge, nervous.

"Peeta's."

I stare at him. "How do you know them?"

"Daie!"

I turn to see Asher standing opposite us. "Dad wants to know if you need to go into town for more arrowheads!"

"Just a minute," I yell.

'Who was that?" The man asks, staring at Asher.

"My brother."

He lets out a low whistle.

"Hey Dad?"

I turn again to see a dark-haired teenager, just a year or two older than me, standing near us. He looks a lot like the man before me, his son maybe?

"Look," I say slowly. "You'd better come with me."

The man lets out a humourless laugh. "That's why I came. I need to talk to Katniss. I saw you, and thought-"

"I was my mother," I say wearily. "Yeah, I get that a lot." I nod at the boy. "He coming with us?"

"You bet." The boy grins, a friendly grin. He has green eyes and just a splash of pale freckles across his nose. "I'm August."

"I'm Daie," I say, waving half-heartedly.

I lead them over the frozen meadow towards the house, full of questions. Who is the man and how does he know my mother? He looks vaguely familiar, like I've seen a photo of him somewhere, but I can't place him and it's driving me nuts. I come across the fallen geese, shot through their hearts, and string their necks together and tie them to my belt.

"Gruesome," August comments.

"So's life," I point out, irritable.

"Sounds like something Katniss would say," The man says, slightly amused. I fix him a withering glare. "Just shut up about my family until we get there, all right?"

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

Just as I go to open my front door, it opens, and my mother is standing there with a smile on her face, apparently just about to leave. Her face pales when she sees the man.

"Gale," she breathes.

"Hey Catnip," Gale breathes.

Of course it's Gale. I've hear his name in passing, seen pictures of him in the family book. Of course he would mistake me, with all my mother's archery skills and her old leather jacket, as the hunting partner he spent so many years with.

Of course, Gale and my mother last saw each other as she was being dragged off to prison or worse after she killed Coin. And Gale supposedly had a hand in creating the bomb that killed Prim, the aunt I never knew, that my mother so desperately loved.

"What-what are you doing here?' my mother gasps.

"Katniss? Who is it?" My father's voice drifts down the hallway.

He appears behind my mother, wiping his hands on a dish towel, a smile on his face. It disappears instantly when he sees Gale.

"Gale," he says stonily, his voice like ice. His gaze lands on me. "Get in, Daie," he says, and his face is like a thundercloud. I push past Gale and my parents and into the house. I practically dive into the kitchen to escape the awful tension in the hall. Asher is standing there, an eyebrow raised.

"What did you _do_?" Asher hisses.

"That's Gale," I whisper, sure I'm pale. I sneak a glance back down the hall.

"_The _Gale?"

"No, just some random stranger I picked up named Gale! Of course, _the_ Gale!" I hiss, poking my head around the corner and peering back down the hallway. "Shut up so I can eavesdrop!"

Asher, never one to question breaking rule, obediently shuts up.


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you doing here?" My mother asks again, sounding more herself.

"I came to talk to you about the Peacekeepers." Gale says evenly.

"I thought they were gone."

"Not quite."

Silence.

"You'd better come in then," my father says eventually. Asher and I quickly put on an about-face and busy ourselves with some dishes.

"Who's this?" My mother asks, and I know she means August.

"August Dale Hawthorne," August says pleasantly. "Pleased to meet you." Hmm. He's charismatic.

"You son?" Peeta asks Gale.

Silence. Gale may or may not have nodded.

"I guess he can go upstairs," my father says. "Asher! Daie!"

I drop the dishtowel and struggle to look innocent, popping my head back into the hall. Asher bumps into me and we engage in a silent wrestling match until we both wind up, pink-cheeked, in the hall. "Yes Dad?" I ask politely.

"I'm going to assume you were eavesdropping and not bother to introduce Gale," my father says briskly. "Bring August upstairs."

I notice a scar, long and thin, across Gale's cheek. "Sure," I say to my father. The three of us file silently upstairs.

The wrestling match starts on the landing, with August unabashedly jumping in and struggling for a spot at the railing, where you can hear everything that goes on downstairs.

"Move over," I hiss, nudging Asher.

"You move," he shoots back.

"Oh, real witty comeback," I whisper sarcastically.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty," August hisses. "Now will you be quiet?"

We both cock our heads at him, arching eyebrows. He's growing on me.

"What have you been doing?" My mother's voice is saying.

"Living in 2, mostly, heading up the military effort. Got married."

"Who was she?" My mother asks softly.

"Why do you automatically assume she's dead?" Gale asks harshly.

"She's not here, is she?"

I sneak a peek at August. His eyes are downcast. I watch as he swallows hard. So she is gone.

"Her name was Elia," Gale says eventually.

"Any other kids?"

"Just August."

Silence. Seems to be a lot of that going around.

"You know, I'm surprised at your kids' names," Gale says eventually.

"Why's that?" my father snaps.

"Well, I thought you'd name a daughter for Prim."

Dead silence. That was so the wrong thing to say.

"How dare you," my mother says, her voice dangerous.

"Katniss-"

"How DARE YOU!" My mother screams. I flinch. "How dare you come in here and talk about her like that!"

"Katniss, I-"

"You helped KILL her!" my mother screams. "If you had just kept your stupid mouth shut she might still be here!"

"That wasn't my fault!"

"You were supposed to kill me!" My mother shouts furiously. I flinch again. I've never heard her like this. "You were supposed to kill me before you let them take me!"

"And you were supposed to kill me, Katniss!" Gale yells. "And then were would we be?"

"Dead," My mother cries bitterly. "Dead and happy."

"Do you really think that?" Gale says, his voice deadly quiet.

"I don't know. Yes. Maybe. Dammit, Gale." My mother says furiously.

"I think we can all agree that if anyone was supposed to die it was me," Dad says suddenly. "So you can forget this conversation because I'm still here and every day that I am is a gift. Now what do you want, Gale?"

"You always were the peacemaker," Gale says bitterly.

Silence.

"That was awful," I breathe, cheeks soaked with tears. Hearing them talk like that, about wanting to die-

Someone puts their and on my shoulder. August, looking at me with the same shock I'm feeling.

"I'm here because of the Peacekeepers."

"The Peacekeepers died with the war," my mother says fiercely.

"Apparently not. Katniss, you should know a second generation of Peacekeepers attacked the memorial last night."

"The tribute memorial?" I ask the boys in a low tone. "The one for everybody who died?"

"Must be, "Asher whispers.

"Don't look at me," August whispers. "I just came to spend time with my dad while I'm on leave."

"From the army?" I ask in disbelief.

"First year training."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Quiet," Asher hisses.

"-do to it," my father is asking.

"Painted it with graffiti. 'Bring back the Games,' crap like that."

"So why did you come here?" My mother asks bitterly.

"Because there's a chance 12 is their next target. It's where the rebellion started, and, well-"

"I'm here," my mother finishes, her voice pained.

"What can we do?" My father asks softly.

"Leave."

"No one else dies for me," My mother snaps instantly. "Not again, Gale."

"So stay and die for nothing!" Gale yells.

"Nobody is going to die!" Dad snaps loudly. "Just how many new Peacekeepers are there, Gale?"

"Possibly as many as a couple hundred," Gale says softly.

"How is that possible?" My mother breathes.

"They've been training them, breeding them. The old Peacekeepers and Snow sympathizers."

"Are we talking another war?" My dad asks in a horrified tone.

"No. The military can overpower them. But we have to catch them first. And they almost equal 12's population. We have no idea what they're capable of. It's dangerous to underestimate them. This is all worst case scenario."

"What do you need us to do?" My mother asks.

"The best thing you can do is show no fear. People look to you."

"Where have I heard that before?" My mother says bitterly. "I can't do this again."

"We're talking a small skirmish at worst. We'll move some troops in, they'll take care of it, end of story."

"So why are you here?" My mother challenges.

"Because you should be warned, Katniss," Gale snaps. "That's it."

Heavy silence.

"So what do we do?" Dad asks.

"Keep your family safe. We'll have people here to protect you."

My blood runs cold. We need protection?


	3. Chapter 3

I turn to look at Asher, terrified. I've heard stories of war and death and horror my entire life. But I thought that we'd learned our lesson by now.

"Did you know this?" I hiss to August. He shakes his head.

"I think we should stop listening now," Asher breathes, his eyes wide. He may be annoying as all get out, but he's still my little brother.

"Okay, I breathe, getting to my feet. August wordlessly follows us into the study where President Snow once confronted my mother.

"What going to happen to us?" I ask the air, knowing neither of the boys have answers.

"Maybe nothing," August says optimistically.

I realize I know nothing whatsoever about him.

"Geez, August, you must be feeling pretty unwelcome," I say suddenly, feeling a little guilty.

August flushes. "It's fine."

"Well, I'm Daie Primrose Everdeen, this is my little brother, Asher Finnick Everdeen," I say conversationally, trying to change the subject.

"Pleased to meet you," Asher says distractedly.

"Thanks," August says politely, as if we've just met.

"So where are you from?" I ask, keeping up the everything's-all-right act.

"District 2, mainly. I was stationed in 7 when I got leave," He says cordially.

"That's right," I remember, blushing. "You're military, right?"

"Yeah. It's in my blood, I guess." August says quietly. "Joined up soon as I could. My dad travels a lot. He's like second in command."

"Cool," Asher pipes up.

"What about you guys? Go to school?"

I shake my head. "Not anymore. I hunt, he bakes some, writes some."

"You write?" August asks Asher incredulously.

Asher shrugs sullenly. There's my boy. "Not really."

"Dark poetry," I supply. "That's what he writes." Asher glares at me, and for a moment, I forget about the threat of war hanging leaden in the air.

"And you hunt?" August asks me. He has grey eyes, sparkling, dreaming grey eyes, and dark hair that must be really thick. I'm taken aback by how handsome he is. He doesn't have so much of his father's fire in him. He's softer, more charismatic than Gale.

"Yeah," I say, a little hoarsely. I clear my throat. "Yeah."

"And dance?"

I look at him sharply. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs. "My mother was a dancer. She had that look, you know? Really agile and graceful, and kind of thin and muscled all at once."

I look away, lashes brushing my cheeks as I look down.

"She did dance," Asher says. I knew I'd pay for talking about his poetry. It's beautiful stuff, although I'd never admit it. It's about the Games and based on the family book, the book of people who are dead. His poetry is personal. So was my dancing. But I don't dance anymore.

"Why not?" August asks gently. I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud.

"No one to dance with," I fib.

I don't want to go into this.

We lapse into silence. I can hear raised voices downstairs.

"Your mother was really brave, you know," August says suddenly.

I look up, startled. "What?"

"My dad talks about her all the time. About how she was the Mockingjay. Everything she did."

"She killed people," Asher points out, looking as taken aback as I feel.

"So did my Dad," August says evenly. "Killing is like living-it's a struggle. But life is beautiful. Killing is ugly. But it's a struggle we all face."

I know what he means. I struggle to kill deer sometimes. They're so beautiful. And yet, they mean life or death to some poor starving family somewhere.

Asher doesn't say anything. He writes too many poems about death to retort. I look at August, so earnest and good-natured and full of something dark all at once. He thinks my mother is brave. So do I. She's the bravest person I know. But I, unlike him, get to see the suit she wore, the bow she used, hear the stories told tearfully in the dark of night little by little.

"Do you want to see the suit?" I blurt out.

August raises an eyebrow. "the Mockingjay suit?"

"Daie," Asher says warningly.

"Calm down, it's in my room," I say, brushing off his protests. "It's just a suit."

"I would like to see it, you know, be able to picture that in the old stories." August says earnestly. I glance shyly at him. "All right."

I lead him into my room. When I was a baby, my mother was storing all the things from her old life in my closet. She never took them out. It's all there- Cinna's clothes, Dad's old paintings, pictures of tributes who are long gone, books and notebooks, love letters that were never sent. In one of the garment bags is the suit, marked by an MJ on the bag.

I carefully take it out of the closet and lay it out on my blue-swathed bed. I unzip the bag and there it is. Lethal and beautiful all at once. Preserved by the armor sewn into the fabric and Capitol chemicals. Shipped back, repaired and renewed after the war, good as new. The mockingjay pin is still fixed over the heart of the suit, less shiny than it was maybe, but still there. It's all still here. My parents are still here. 12 is still here. We survived one was. Can we make it through another?

My blood runs cold again.

"It's amazing," August breathes.

"It's just a suit," Asher points out, slightly bitterly.

"But think of what it represents, Asher," August says earnestly. "Freedom. Hope. Bravery."

I never thought of it that way. That's what my mother was to them. Freedom, hope and bravery. What a beautiful thing to be, I think. I suddenly see my mother through August's eyes.

We stand in silence, looking at it.

"What else is there?" August asks finally.

"Clothes. Books. Some other stuff. We can look at it, if you want." I say.

"Better yet, I'll grab the book," Asher says.

"The book?" August echoes as Asher, surprisingly helpful, rushes off to find it.

"You have to see it to believe it."

I realize August is looking at me. Staring, almost.

"What?" I say defensively, self-consciously crossing my arms over my chest.

"I've never met anyone like you," August says earnestly.

"What?" I echo, speechless. He just blurts out what he's thinking. It's honest and earnest, but unnerving all at once.

"I've never met anyone like you," he says simply, smiling.

"You barely know me. And you have met my mother, right?"

He shakes his head. "You're not like her."

"How do you know?"

"Because you have something she never had."

"And what's that?" I say, sounding cocky but feeling completely and utterly blown away by him. As thrilled by him as a new baby is by a rainbow, and just as confused.

"Your hope."

"She had hope."

"She had fight. She had fire. She had determination. But you have hope, which is softer and much more beautiful."

He is inches away from my face, his eyes spell-bindingly gorgeous. My heart is fluttering like a bird in flight at his closeness. "Oh," I breathe, unable to do anything but stare at him.

"Found it," comes Asher's voice, and I am flung back into myself. I step back, but August's eyes are still on mine, a small smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

"Have a seat," I offer, my voice a little strangled, gesturing to the couch I have in here. August and I sit side by side with Asher perched on the arm of the couch.

I hold the book on my lap and open it.

The first page is Rue's, and I almost always cry when I see it. There's a picture of the bright-eyed little girl, a painting done by my father of her wreathed in flowers. My mother scrawled words on the page, about how she could fly from tree to tree and sing so beautifully. There's a white page tucked into the book here that wasn't there before. I pick it up and unfold it.

_Rue_

_She was a bird taking flight_

_Who never flew_

_She was a growing girl_

_Who never grew_

_She was like a budding flower cut off before it can bloom_

_She was like the sun struggling to rise but never breaking through the clouds_

_She was beautiful agile young_

_She new and innocent and loved_

_And now she's gone_

_She was buried in flowers_

_And remembered by a nation that cried bitterly for her_

_But she's still gone_

_The damage is done_

_The Gamemakers won_

_And she's still gone_

I look up at Asher, tears in my eyes.

"Did you write this?" I breathe.

He flushes and glares. "I didn't know that was still in there," he mutters darkly.

"It's beautiful."

I turn the page. There's a picture of Finnick Odair, of his wedding, Annie Cresta in a beautiful sea green gown at his side. I think my mother still has that. Their son is almost twice my age, and he works in the fishing industry in 4.

August is drinking the pages in, his face right next to my hair as he leans forward. I shift the book a little so it rests on both of our laps', our legs touching slightly and sending electric tingles up my spine. My breath catches in my throat.

Prim's page makes me cry a little. She actually has two pages. So many details are on those pages- she dusted her father's shaving mirror after he died because he hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. She wanted to be a doctor. Her shirt fell came untucked from her skirt on Reaping Day, and the day she died, forming a ducktail. She fell asleep with her goat, Lady, next to her the night Lady was given to her. On and on it goes. And Asher's right. The damage is done, the Gamemakers won, because Prim is still gone.

This can't happen again. This war that kills so many people. That leaves my mother with nightmares and that haunted look in my father's eyes. That has them arguing about dying. About dying being better than living, because it's too hard to keep going when so many others are not.

I'm on my feet and rifling through the closet without a word. The boys watch, confused, as I pull out the garment bag marked "Annie" and lay it out on the bed. Unzip it, revealing Annie Cresta's wedding gown.

Months. That's how long they were married. Because Peacekeepers killed him. A hard, bitter anger forms in the pit of my stomach.

I glance at the Mockingjay suit with the pin gleaming on it. The pin that survived the Games and the war and saw so many die.

This cannot happen again.

I grab the pin and run downstairs, Asher dashing after me calling my name, and burst into the living room.

"How many Peacekeepers are there?" I burst out, completely on autopilot.

"What?' My mother exclaims. My father is staring at me as if he's seen a ghost.

"How many are there?" I repeat.

"A couple hundred," Gale says, confused. "But what-"

"We have to stop them," I shout, holding up the pin, trembling with the desire to fight this. "She's right, we can't let anyone else die. We can't have another rebellion. We have to stop them before this escalates!"

"Daie-" My mother starts.

"Don't 'Daie' me!" I snap. "We'r enot running," I say fiercely, wheeling on Gale. "We'r egoing to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble."

"Oh my word, " Gale breathes. His eyes flick to my mother, who looks shocked. "Katniss, it's-"

"Me," she breathes.

Dead silence. My heart pounds in my ears. What am I doing? This isn't me. I don't get seized by wild fits of anger. My-and slowly it dawns on me-mother does.

No wonder everyone says we're so alike.

I stand there trembling until August speaks.

"She's right."

"I know she's right," Gale says defiantly. "The resemblance is scary, that's all. Now do you see what I'm saying, Katniss?"

She nods, speechless.

"She should've been the Mockingjay. She would've been perfect," She says almost bitterly. "Wouldn't have had to script her."

Gale laughs slightly. "You really were awful."

"So we fight, then. Tell the Peacekeepers they have a fight on their hands." My mother says bravely.

"It's not that simple," my father says warningly. "This is not going to be easy."

"I'm ready for this, Peeta," my mother says softly. "We'll do it for them. Keep 12 peaceful. And sometimes peace takes a little war. And Daie," she adds, getting up, "we need to talk about that scene."

"You can't blame her for being her mother's daughter," Dad says, amused.

"I know that," my mother says impatiently. "But we're going to have a hard time keeping her off the front lines."

"Again, that is so _you_," Gale says quietly, almost to himself.

"I don't want either of my children in a war," my mother says fiercely. "Send them to the New Capitol."

"What?" Asher and I chorus, blown away.

"You heard me," my mother says determinedly. "You'll be safe there. You're my children, they'll keep you safe."

"Who will?" I ask.

"I don't know," my mother shrugs helplessly. "Whoever's left."

"I won't go," Asher puts in mildly.

"It's true," I say, suddenly angry. "You can't ship us off to the Capitol."

My mother flinches. To her, being shipped off to the Capitol meant the Games. I feel instantly guilty but I'm not giving in. I'm staying here no matter what it takes.


	5. Chapter 5

Gale and August leave on good terms. They'll be here heading up the military effort. Every part of 12 is being guarded. The mayor is announcing it tomorrow, when the soldiers get shipped in.

I'm shivering with excitement and terror even as we have a family-wide shouting match on whether or not Asher and I are getting shipped out. They'll literally have to drag us kicking and screaming onto the train, not that I doubt their ability to do so, and since we refuse to leave at all or without them, we're winning the argument. So far this is due to the fact they don't want to leave us and we won't leave them in what may or may not become a warzone. Night falls without a decision.

I sit on the couch where the moonlight filtering through my bedroom window bathes me in cool light. I don't know what to think anymore. I'm restless and my head is full of August.

I get up and slip into the hall with a Hunter's tread, peeking soundlessly into Asher's room. His lamp is still on, but he's passed out on the bed, papers scattered everywhere. I slip in and start picking them up so he doesn't crumple them in his sleep.

I'm shocked by his poems, how dark and deep they can be, how sweet and beautiful they are. Like the one about Rue. I pick up a sheet with "Dark" scribbled across the top.

_Dark_

_Death is dark and still_

_It has no pain, no harm, no fear._

_Death is warm and soft_

_And Death is safe_

_Life is bright and moving_

_It is full of pain and hurt and terror_

_It is rough and harsh_

_Sometimes I wonder if I let go and went into death_

_If it would be so much better_

_Than life_

I look up at Asher, troubled. He looks so sweet in sleep, his sharp grey eyes closed and his blond curls framing his face. Where does he go in his head to come up with this stuff? Is he so dark and trouble that he really thinks this stuff? Or is he just a creative genius?

Or maybe he's more like my mother than we thought. Maybe he has inherited her darkness.

But my mother is so many other things, too. Fierce and beautiful and loved. Asher is loved. Does he know it?

I lay the papers on his desk with a blank page on top, so he'll think I didn't read anything. I turn off his light and slip back into the hall, troubled.

My parent's voices catch my attention.

"-so much like me. And that worries me," my mother is saying.

"I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met," my father says gently. "I wouldn't worry about Daie taking after you. It's wonderful."

"Well, she does have you in her, too, which is some consolation. But Peeta, what she said today about causing all kinds of trouble…I said that exact same thing to Gale before the Quell when he was whipped."

"She thinks a lot like you," my father says.

"That's what worries me. She'll throw herself into battle if she thinks it'll do any good. Peeta, I can't let my children go through that."

"They don't have to fight. Neither do we, Katniss. You know that."

"And I wasn't supposed to be in the Capitol at all. And there I was. She'll find a way. But I feel like she's still my baby, Peeta. I don't want her to go through this."

"She knows what's best for her, Katniss. So do you."

"I want them in the Capitol, Peeta. I want them safe."

"I don't want to be away from them."

"So we'll go, too!"

"But we need to stay, Katniss. We're still the example."

"You'd think people would've learned better by now."

"Sleep on it, Katniss. I'm here no matter what happens."

"Stay with me?"

"Always."

_Always. _

I suddenly feel like crying. My mother loves me so much, so much, so much, she doesn't want me hurt.

I won't be, I promised silently.

_Always._

That's their promise to each other. For as long as I can remember.

I wish someone would promise me _Always_.


	6. Chapter 6

The day is brilliantly sunny and dazzlingly cold. 12 is gathered in the square, bundled up against the still cold. A lot of eyes are on my parents as usual, but more are on Gale as he mounts the stage. August stands with us.

Our mayor, Regulus Dowd, is good as mayors go. I'm not much for politics. I'm longing for the woods, and so is my mother. I want to run away from this day and this war, even though I helped incite it.

I suddenly realize that if people die, it's on me.

I'm distracted by Asher's troubling poems and August's closeness. His grey eyes aren't as sparkly and he's very serious.

War is nothing to joke about.

The mayor talks about various attacks by these new Peacekeepers. The tribute memorial, as well as various memorials in 4, 11, and the New Capitol, have all been hit. The Peacekeepers may number as many as five hundred, just under fifty people less than 12's population. We are decimated. 12 is likely the next target, since this is where the rebellion started, with my parents. And they're still here.

12 is on high alert. There will be military guards surrounding 12's perimeter and on every street corner, and a curfew of 10 pm is set on the entire district.

The woods are off limits, but I don't think that's going to stop me. My mother managed to break that rule for almost six years without being caught. Of course, she's the one I need to look out for.

The thing is, I have zero intention of sitting on the sidelines if it comes to combat. August will be on the front lines, in the middle of the gunfire and explosions, and I intend to be right there next to him. I suggested we fight, and now, this is personal.

I'm fast and quick on my feet, and I can shoot. I have zero gun experience, but I'm willing to bet money there's one in the closet, buried under the boxes. I'll get August to teach me, and if he doesn't, I'll go to Haymitch.

I'm devising this plan as a shrill train whistles pierces the frozen air. The soldiers have arrived.

The crowd breaks into murmurs and hurries off. No one wants to take risks, not after what happened last time. Several people are crying. If I weren't so determined, I might do the same.

My parents stay to talk with the mayor, telling us to go home under threat of torture.

Asher and I head back to the Village in silence.

"Going home?" He asks eventually.

"Not on your life."

"That's what I thought."

I knock on Haymitch's door then bang in anyway.

"Don't any of you knock?" He exclaims grouchily, lying flat out on his couch in the dark.

"I need your help."

"Could've told you that years ago," he grunts, getting to his feet.

"I need to learn how to fight."

He freezes, something flickering across his eyes. Pain. He watched my mother and father go into two Games and then a war. The last he thing needs is to watch their only daughter go into war. I should've that of that. Haymitch has been through hell and back.

"Never mind," I mumble.

"Why do you want this, Daie?" He says hoarsely.

I turn to face him again. "What?"

"Why do you want to go into battle? You of all people?"  
>"We can't have another Mockingjay," I say simply. "We can't have another war. This ends here, and it ends now. And I need to be part of it if I want to sleep easy for the rest of my life."<p>

"I know how that feels," he mumbles.

"Then you'll help me?"

"Absolutely not. But I'll so your parents a favour and not tell them you were here."

I hadn't thought of him going to them. This whole thing wasn't well planned out. What if he had actually gone to the gathering in the square? And if he had told my parents, the crackdown on me would be legendary. Asher has no desire to fight. I do, and I realize all over again how much of my mother's fire I inherited. They used to call her the "Girl on Fire", then the Mockingjay.

I briefly wonder what they would have called me under the same circumstances.

I cross the green and troupe into my house, mercifully warm. To my surprise, August is in my kitchen, making tea.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt, unravelling my scarf.

"Making tea," he says calmly. "It's cold and the tea is hot. Want some?"

His logic is impeccable, but the fact that he's in my kitchen is more than a little disconcerting.

"Um, sure," I say, hesitant.

He pours tea that smells strongly of mint into a flask.

"Coming?" He asks, smiling his beautiful August smile again. I love that smile, it's so happy. It makes me smile back.

"Where to?" I ask, picking up my scarf as he pulls on his boots.

"Outside."

"Where? The woods are off limits." And I'm still not entirely sure how to get back into them.

"Up," he says, straightening.

"To the roof?" I ask in disbelief.

"It looks like it's easy to climb," he says matter-of-factly.

"That's what you think when you look at my house?" I ask in disbelief.

He shrugs. "I like to climb stuff. You coming or not?"

Of course I'm coming. I've been scampering up trees since I could walk.

We go out the door and circle around back of the house.

"How do we get up from here?" I ask, eyeing the siding of my house.

"Drainpipe."

Didn't think of that. I'm debating how to approach this when August tucks the tea flask in his jacket, pulls off his gloves and grips the drainpipe with both hands. He jumps up, wrapping his knees around the pipe, and starts climbing up with the ease of a monkey.

Well that's impressive.

I copy his movements. I do this climbing trees sometimes. It takes a lot of core strength and practice. Thankfully, I'm strong from days of hunting and tree climbing and I've has plenty of practice with both things.

I pull myself up onto the roof, gripping the shingles, and flop onto my back. The sky is a brilliant, crystalline blue so perfect it takes my breath away. I just lie here staring at the endless expanse of it, cloudless and peaceful and still, so unlike my life. I sigh, and my breath creates a frosty cloud in the air. My fingers are slowly freezing. I should probably pull my gloves back on.

I sit up. August is sitting next to me, looking earnestly out at the frozen, still district. You can see everything from here. It's amazing. The tiny soldiers in the square and the factory and the train station and all the mismatched houses, newly rebuilt.

"Whoa," I breathe.

"I know," August says earnestly. "It's amazing how much a different point of view can change a place."

I sneak a peek at him. I've never met anyone like him. He perplexes me and enthralls me simultaneously.

"Do you do this a lot?" I ask.

"Whenever I can."

"Bet that goes over well in the army."

"You have no idea."

I laugh and he grins, a warm thing in a frosty day.

"Shouldn't you be down there?" I ask, squinting at the ant-like soldiers in the square.

"Not for another four days. I'm still on leave. But If there's an attack, then yeah, I'll need to jump back in."

We're silent for a moment. My earlier question presses against my lips, desperate for escape.

"Hey August?" I ask at last.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, anything."

"Will you train me?"

He does a double-take and whips his head around. "You-you mean for war?" He asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, I say, blushing. "I can't really explain, but I need to be out there."

August is quiet a moment. Then he says, softly, "War is a horrible thing, Daie. It's a one-way street. You can't go back."

"I know," I say determinedly. "But didn't you walk right into it, too?"

"Got me there," he says quietly. But there's no humour in his voice. He looks away, out towards the woods.

"If you really want to do this, no one can stop you, can they?" He asks.

"Not really." I admit.

"Well, then I should give you your best shot."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah. Might as well send you in safe as you can get."

That's true. He seems to be warming to the idea.

"So I need to know how to fire a gun." I say.

"Have you got one?"

"Somewhere, I'm sure."

"You can use a bow."

"Yeah."

"That's good from a long distance, but in hand to hand you'll need either a gun or a knife."

"So where do we start?"

"Gun," he says decidedly. "First thing I learned."

Suddenly a massive explosion rocks the square.


	7. Chapter 7

I scream, almost sliding off the roof. August is already moving.

"Where are you going?" I yell, terrified. He's already shimmying down the drain pipe.

"Be careful!" He yells, running off towards the square. An enormous mushroom cloud of smoke blooms over the square. I stare, horror-struck, as orange flames lick the once-pristine sky.

Then it hits me: my parents were still there.

"NO!" I scream, and I'm moving. I scramble down the drainpipe and jump half of it, sprint across my yard to the front of the house.

"Asher!" I scream. He appears, wide-eyes and pale, down the hall.

"Run to the neighbour's. You'll be safer there," I yell. It's not the Mockingjay's house, at least. It's the only thing I can think of.

"What about you?" His voice is so small. I grab my bow and sling my sheath over my shoulder.

"I'm going to fight. Listen to me, Asher," I demand, grabbing his shoulders. "You. Need. To. Get. Out. Of. Here. Run, as fast as you can. They'll come after you."

"Not without you," he says instantly. He picks now to be brotherly!

"Not happening. Stay safe, little brother." I shove him onto the steps and yell at him to run.

I sprint towards the square, desperate to get to my parents, to whoever attacked the square. I can't believe this happened so fast! War the day after we hear about it!

The square is a mess of smoke, gunfire and bodies. People dressed in the old Peacekeeper uniforms battle against the military boys, exchanging gunfire over the heads of four of five bodies. People are huddled in alleyways and screaming. Buildings rimming the square are in flames.

A bullet whizzes my ear and I dive to the side. Vantage point. That's all I can think. I scramble up the fire escape next to the tailor's, finding myself on the flat gravel roof. I yank an arrow from the sheath and fit it into the bowstring. I can see everybody now, including the bodies. I swallow hard, fingers trembling slightly.

I find a target, moving as fast as a deer through the woods. This is nothing. This is a million moments in one, all alike, all safe, all familiar.

I let the arrow fly.

The peacekeeper hits the ground just as I let another one fly. I move as fast as I can, mind over matter, heart pounding. Two down. Three. Five. Nine.

I take down almost a dozen before they realize where the arrows are coming from and start returning fire. I hit the ground, my heart in my mouth, bullets whizzing past me. The soldiers take the opportunity to start opening fire on the distracted guards.

I stare up at the sky, gasping for air, unable to move for a second. What did I just do?

A bullet whizzes by my ear. I can't stay here. They still need help.

I start moving, scuttling towards the back of the roof and down towards the street. August is on his way up.

"Daie, you IDIOT!" He yells over the sounds of war, gripping my shoulders. "What the HELL are you THINKING?"

"What was I supposed to do?" I snap, suddenly furious. I just took down a dozen Peacekeepers, I have zero idea if my parents are even still alive, and I may or may not just have murdered someone. "Watch 12 burn?"

"Where's Asher?"

"Hiding."

An explosion rocks the square, and I hit the grounds, holding my arms over my head. August throws himself over me.

"This is the worst possible place for you to be! They want to kill the Mockingjay and her family!" He shouts angrily.

"Which is why exactly why I need to be here!" I snap. "If they're scared of us, they'll think twice before hurting us!"

Gunfire fills the air, smoke causing my eyes to tear up. But I'm in this for better or worse now.

"I'm going to run into that fight whether or not you help me!" I yell.

August swears angrily. I've never seen this side of him, but it's like the fire burning within me, fuelling me and filling me with fight.

"Fine!" He yells. "Can you throw a knife?"

Of course I can. I hunt, don't I? I nod and he pulls a knife from his jacket, slaps it into my palm, and orders, "If you don't stay behind me, I swear I will throw you over my back and drag you home kicking and screaming. Got that?"

"Got it," I snap, hating to be babied.

An explosion throws debris around the side of the building and August starts to move. I sprint after him, around the corner and into the gunfire and bodies and smoke.

I don't think. I just move. Every ounce of my being is concentrating on staying alive. I keep shooting until the arrows have all found their marks. Peacekeepers and soldiers alike rush past August and I, who are moving almost back to back through the mass of people with the sole purpose of taking down as many Peacekeepers as possible.

"I thought there was more military than this," I shout at August.

"Down!" he yells, and I hit the ground so hard it knocks the winds out of me. I find myself face to face with a body, the helmet of a dead Peacekeeper reflecting my wide eyes and sooty face. I scramble to my feet and away.

"Daie!" August yells. I whirl, face to face with a live Peacekeeper this time. Without thinking, I grab my knife and hurl it into his chest. He slumps to the ground with a thud.

Time stands still as I stare at his body.

Suddenly August appears, yanks the knife out of the Peacekeeper's body and decks me.

I hit the ground and yell. "What the hell, August?"

"Be. Careful," he snaps through gritted teeth, rolling off of me and yanking me to my feet.

Suddenly there's a huge rumbling sound. I whirl to see what looks like a solid wall of soldiers dash into the square. The rest of the military has arrived.

"Hand where I can see them," says an icy voice. I whip my head around. A Peacekeeper has levelled a gun at me. My breath catches in my throat. August has a gun on him, too, the Peacekeeper's got one in each hand.

"You the Mockingjay?" the Peacekeeper snarls angrily. "These your arrows?"

I think to raise my chin. "They're mine."

"You gonna die for what you did," he snarls.

"No," says a voice behind him. "You are."

The Peacekeeper doesn't have a chance to move before the gun goes off and he slumps to the ground. A young man with light brown hair and freckles stands there, grim-faced and sooty, a gun barrel still smoking in his hand.

"Blake," August pants. "You just saved my ass."

"Watch your back, Hawthorne," Blake says stiffly, holstering his gun. He nods his head at me. "You're the daughter, aren't you?"

I nod, speechless.

"Watch your back, then, Everdeen. Don't run into war unprepared."

"Didn't have much of an option," I pant, suddenly breathless.

The Peacekeepers have retreated. Soldiers rush by us in pursuit.

"Is it over?" I manage, feeling as if I've been hit by a truck.

"The battle, not the war," Blake says gravely, looking after the soldiers.

"What does that mean?"

"It means this was meant to scare us," August says in a monotone. "This isn't a battle, just a warning."

Blake nods. I feel like I may throw up at the thought of going through that again, only worse. I don't know where my family is. I don't know if they're alive. I don't know who else may be dead. In one instant, everything I've ever known has changed.

"My parents," I say in a small voice.

"If you mean the Mockingjay and her husband, they were in the Justice Building at the time of the attack." Blake says.

I whip my head around. The Justice Building is surrounded by soldiers and bodies, but it's unscathed.

"HEY!" Someone yells.

I turn to see a general running up to us. August and Blake immediately stand at attention.

"Who fired the arrows?" The general demands.

Since I'm the one with an empty quiver strapped to my back, a bow over my shoulder, and no gun, I'm going to assume that's me.

"Huh," the general says, eyeing me. "If you aren't the spitting image of her. Same archery skills, too."

"She's amazing, sir," August pipes up.

"Untrained," the general says, arching an eyebrow. "And a target. Yet you ran into battle anyway."

"Runs in the family," I quip weakly.

"Well, your parents are in the Justice Building asking for you." The general says gruffly.

Could've led with that.

I sprint off towards the Justice Building. The door bangs open as I reach the steps, and my mother flies out with a face the colour of paper.

"Daie!" She screams, throwing her arms around me. I wrap my arms around her, gripping her so tightly I may cut off circulation. I never want to let go. She makes me feel safe. My dad joins us, his arms encircling both of us easily.

"You terrified me," my mother gasps. "You're okay?"

I nod.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!" She explodes, shaking me by the shoulders. "If you ever do that again I'll kill you myself!"

"I took down half the Peacekeepers!" I explode, completely fed up with being asked what I was thinking. Isn't it obvious what I was thinking? War. Run. Help. That's the essential thought process. "Would somebody please cut me some slack!"

"You scared me within an inch of my life!" My mother is shrieking now too, shaking like a leaf. "I thought you were dead, Daie! I thought I'd watched somebody I loved die! Again!"

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I grip her shoulders now. "I'm okay. I promise."

"Where's Asher?"

Oh crap.


	8. Chapter 8

"Asher!" I yell, my voice echoing across The Village. "ASHER!"  
>"ASHER!" August yells.<p>

"Where is he?' I gasp, terrified. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," August snaps, impatient.

Without warning, I start crying. I've been through too much too fast. I can't even take him snapping at me. I just can't do it anymore.

August's arms wrap around me.

"I'm sorry," I gasp between sobs. "I'm just-I was so scared-"

"I know," he says softly.

"I killed someone!" I yell hysterically. "Do you know what that's like?"  
>"You know that I do."<p>

Silence, heavy as lead, fills the frozen air. Of course he knows.

"The never leave you, do they?" I rasp, haunted. My cheek is pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around my back. My hands are curled, half-frozen, against his cheek. My parents are scouring the Square for him or his body. What if he died running for shelter? What if, what if, what if…

"No," August whispers.

I start to cry again.

I feel hollow, like part of me is dead, too.

"Let's check the house again," August says.

He has to lead me by the hand, I'm so unsteady.

I find myself in Asher's empty room. More papers are scattered across his bed. I pick one up.

_Somebody died today_

_And he was very young_

_Unobserved and unnoticed_

_Cut off before he could be the change he wanted to see in the world_

_Somebody died today_

_And he loved writing and family_

_Was haunted by nightmares of Games he never played_

_Lived in terror of death_

_Because of who his mother was_

_Somebody died today_

_And he had no control over his life_

_It was spiralling out of control_

_And so he ended it_

_Somebody died today_

_And that somebody was me_

"AUGUST!" I scream.

He appears in an instant. I'm shaking like crazy. I just hold the paper out at him. His eyes flick over it.

"This doesn't mean he's suicidal," August says, his eyes troubled.

"Then what does it mean?" I shriek, my voice shrill.

"Maybe it was just something he was writing. Authors write about this stuff all the time. Doesn't mean they're suicidal."

I want desperately to believe him. Standing there smelling of smoke, dirty and ragged with a paper clutched in his hand, his eyes serious but brave, his mouth saying reassuring things, he looks so safe and strong. Perfect. Whole.

Without thinking, I step up to him, lean up and kiss him.

He kisses me back, his arm sliding to the small of my back, his hand resting there, his other hand dropping the paper onto the floor. One of my hands entangles itself into his hair. Fireworks explode behind my eyelids, warmth fizzing out to my fingertips. I feel electric, alive, pure, whole, sane, grief-stricken, elatedly happy, beautiful, perfect, everything too fast and all at once. Yet it doesn't end. He doesn't stop kissing me. This feels so right, so healing, that I don't want to stop, either. This is on the verge of escalating quickly.

"Whoa," comes a voice.

We leap apart as if electrocuted. I'm so startled I shriek a little, slamming into the doorframe of Asher's room. Asher is standing there, one eyebrow arched, looking for all the world as if he's just seen the best show on Earth. I turn pink, raking my hands through my ashy hair.

"Geez, Asher," I yell. "Could you give us some warning next time?"

"Nope," he says at once, grinning. "That was beautiful."

"You do know people are looking for you, right?" I ask, sneaking a glance at August under my lashes. He looks completely unflushed, meeting Asher's gaze evenly. What does that mean? That was electric and gorgeous, but if it wasn't the same for him?

I really wish we hadn't been interrupted.

"Yeah, I met the parental units in the Square. I was hiding out at the Mattewson's place." Asher says, jutting a thumb in the general direction of the Square. "They're taking the whole family to the Justice Building for our own protection. A couple of guards came with me, we're supposed to grab whatever we'll need and go."

"What about our parents?" I ask.  
>Asher pales a little. "They're not doing so good. Dad's having a relapse."<p>

My blood runs cold. Dad leaves us sometimes. He becomes someone different, a snarling Mutt from the old days. Only my mother can bring him back. He hasn't left in years. War has brought this out in him.

"Go," August says. I look up at him with wide, troubled eyes.

"I'll take care of things. Go," he says again.

"Really?"

"Really. Your family needs you."

Asher looks relieved. "I was kind of hoping you would come back."

That settles it. If he's admitting he needs me, he needs me. And I need to go see my parents. If Dad's breaking down, then how is my mother holding up?

I race back towards the Justice Building, electrified by August and fear. I clatter up the steps into the front hall, which is full of soldiers.

"Upstairs," Asher says.

I start running again.

There are rooms where important people stay up here. Military officials and politicians and now us.

The door to room 6 is cracked open, and I can see my father in the crack. His face is pale and he's gripping the back of a velvety chair, my mother kneeling before him, her voice pleading.

"Stay with me," she's saying. "Stay with me."

Oh, Dad. Please stay with us, I beg silently.

He looks up and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are huge, the pupils dilating and contracting. But as he looks at me, they contract into something vaguely resembling normalcy.

"Daie," he says, his voice strained.

My mother turns, her eyes fearful. "Daie-" she starts.

"No," my father says suddenly. "She helps me hang on. Like you," he starts, the grip on his chair tightening. I can see the thin scars where the handcuffs he wore in the days before the Capitol fell dug into his wrists. I swallow hard, but I slowly walk into the room, kneeling next to my mother. She looks at me with a sad, small smile.

"Talk to him," she whispers.

But when I look at the man who for so many years has made me feel so safe and so happy, all I can think is of how I may lose him. "Daddy," I whisper, my voice cracking.

His body relaxes and he smiles tiredly at me. "Daie," he says again, and I know he's back. My mother relaxes next to me.

I feel tears stream down my cheeks as he comes around the chair and wraps his arms around me. My mother kisses him fiercely over my hair, and I can hear Asher run into the room and throw his arms around us.

"Daddy," I sob.

"Shh," he murmurs. "Shh. It's okay, Daie. It's okay."

"You were so brave today," my mother whispers.

I nod, but this isn't over. And she needs to know I'm not through, either.

"Remember when you first took me hunting? And I got so scared?" I whisper.

"I remember," my mother whispers.

"I was terrified. But I knew I had to go back into the woods again. It's the same thing now. I have to join the fight again."

My mother is shaking her head, I can feel her moving. "No," she's saying. "Not again, not again Daie."

"I have to," I insist.

I have to.


	9. Chapter 9

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
>A bed of grass, a soft green pillow<br>Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
>And when again they open, the sun will rise.<em>

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<br>Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
>Here is the place where I love you.<em>

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
>A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray<br>Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
>And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.<em>

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<br>Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
>Here is the place where I love you.<em>

My father use to sing that to me when I was little. He sings that to me tonight, hours later, when the moon is high in the sky and Asher and I are falling asleep.

I sleep late, full of dreams that aren't nightmares but aren't pleasant, either. I wake up in a cold sweat gasping for air. I need to get outside or I may die.

I yank on some pants and a sweater, a scarf and my hunting jacket. Out in the hall, I tiptoe down each way until I find stairs leading up. They go to a massive attic with a metal ladder that retracts from a trapdoor leading to the roof. The ladder is already down. I clamber up.

The first breath of fresh air is my salvation. August is sitting between two peaks of the roof, his back to me. Why am I not surprised?

I boost myself onto the shingles and follow his gaze. He's looking out at the woods.

"Pretty, aren't they?" I say, slinging a leg over to rest in front of me. He nods, not saying much. I drink in the fresh air. The sky is pearly grey. The day is heavy with purpose. I breathe deep, closing my eyes.

"Daie?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever been out of 12?"

I shake my head.

"It's a big world," he says softly, his eyes on the horizon. "Bigger than here."

"Bigger than Panem?"

"Panem isn't the whole world, Daie."

I look at him, confused. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know," he says, aggravated. I've never seen him like this. "That there are other people out there, I guess? Maybe? Who cares?"

He tosses a pebble into the street. I frown, contemplating that.

"So what does that have to do with us?"

"It means we're never alone," August says simply.

I like that. Never alone. It makes me feel safer.

"Daie?"

"Yeah?"

"You were absolutely amazing yesterday."

I blush furiously. "Well, thanks."

"Sloppy and harebrained, but amazing."

I snort. "Gee, thanks."

He laughs a little. I'm glad. He seems so tense.

"I like roofs," I say simply, looking around us. "They're pretty." Then I think about what I said. "Wow, that sounded blonde."

He laughs harder.

I look up at the sky and grin. "So where are all the soldiers staying, anyway?"

"The trains," August says matter-of-factly. "They're built for that."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, I guess. Everyone's out on patrol."

"Did they find the Peacekeepers?"

August shakes his head. "They disappeared. We're monitoring the airspace to see if they're using invisible hovercraft."

"How-how many are dead?" I whisper.

August lets out a long breath. "Sixty-four Peacekeepers. And…thirteen of ours."

I bury my face in my hands. That's it then. People died. "I'm responsible. I said we should fight." I say miserably.

"Those people would've died anyway, Daie," August says fiercely, looking at me with a startling intensity. "In fact if we hadn't been there hundreds of people would've died."

I hadn't thought of that. I look up at him, so vehement that I'm innocent, and lean forward and kiss him.

This time he has his hand in my hair and the fireworks are like fiercely burning flames, blue and gold and violet, rendering me breathless and beautiful.

He pulls back, grinning. "I was afraid yesterday was a fluke."

"Let's test that theory again," I say breathlessly, leaning in again. This kiss is much faster. I pull back, grinning. "Not a fluke."

August tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "You're beautiful," he whispers. I blush furiously. I believe it when he says it, so simply but so meaningfully. I meet his eyes, his wandering, whimsical, wonderful grey eyes. I lean in again, closing my eyes once more.

"Hate to break it to you," August breathes, "but we need to get you training."

"One more," I persist, all in play.

"Later," he says gently.

I climb reluctantly down through the attic.

Out in the Square, soldiers are everywhere. The hand grenades carved several deep craters into the cobblestone. August grabs a couple of hand guns and we go to the Resting Place to train.

We run, we stretch, we tackle each other, we spar, we fire at trees. Soldiers patrolling the border help us out. The recoil from the gun sends me reeling, the sound echoing in my eyes like a scream. I get a sick feeling in my gut when I use it, but I'm determined to do this. Besides, August has promised me more of those dazzling, splendid kisses. Every touch-his hand s folding mine around the gun, brushing me as I duck a blow, throwing me over his shoulder in a wrestling match-sends tingles through my limbs.

We don't stop. August puts me through the wringer, but I'm determined to do this. He has me practice with the bow and arrows, which is wonderful, but also with knife throwing, which is miserable because I suck from a distance. My mother appears once, watching me fervently, and I don't see her leave until she's gone.

The cold air is invigorating on my bare skin. I shed my jacket when I overheated and my skin is pink from cold and my lungs are full to bursting with the sweet, precious air.

"It's gonna snow soon," I say, squinting at the sky as I string an arrow through my bow.

"What makes you say so?"

"The clouds," I say, letting the arrow fly. "They get pearly when they're full of snow. You get a lot of snow in 2?"

He shakes his head, squinting at the tree four hundred yards off my arrow lodged itself into. "Bulls-eye. Let's keep going."

It's dark when we head back to the Justice Building. I've never ached so much in my life, but it's a good feeling.

"What about armor?" I ask.

August shrugs. "I can get you some bulletproof stuff. Plus you have the Mockingjay suit."

Technically that's not mine, and I look enough like my mother already. But I don't need to say so.

It's hard to sleep tonight. I'm dreading what dreams I may have. You hit a point where you're too tired to sleep, and I've hit it. My parents are sleeping in the next room, and Asher is asleep across from me. I stare into the dark. My head is too full. I need to be moving.

I creep into the hall and look down to my left. The staircase up to the attic beckons. There's a warm glow at the top of it. I realize I'm in drawstring shorts and a t-shirt, but whatever.

I creep quietly up the stairs. Music fills the air, all kinds of string instruments, cello and violin but also something I don't recognize. It's beautiful.

Asher sits next to the machine playing the music, a very-old fashioned vinyl record player. Asher talks about them sometimes. Asher. I need to talk to him about his poems.

August looks up, then relaxes, smiling. He gestures to a spot on the floor next to him. I sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder, listening.

The song finishes and silence fills the air. I'm under the music's spell, eyes closed, luxuriating in August's closeness.

"Daie?"

"Mmm?"

"Why did you stop dancing?"

Spell broken. My eyes snap open and I shift uncomfortably.

"It hurt too much," I say at last.

"It hurt?" August echoes softly. I nod, swallowing hard. "You mean like physically?"

I shake my head.

"What happened?"

I look away. "Can we not talk about this?" I ask, my voice tight with tears. "Please?"

He falls silent.

"Would-would you dance with me?" He asks softly.

Would I? Could I?

I could.

I nod. "In our pyjamas?" I ask, smiling a little.

"Oh, of course not," August says in an appalled tone as if the very idea is too awful to think about. "I'll go put on my suit and you go throw on one of your mother's old dresses."

"You can't just throw one those kinds of dresses," I remind him, smiling. "Plus they're back at the house."

"I moved them here yesterday," August says imply. "I thought you might need some of the old Mockingjay stuff. It's all in the closet in room five."

I stare at him. "Are you serious?"

He shrugs. "You never know when you may need it. So what do you say?"

I've run out of excuses, plus I owe him big time. How bad can it be? I swallow hard.

"Why not," I say eventually.

"Fifteen minutes," he says, getting to his feet.

I head downstairs. Sure enough, everything's in room 5. August is a genius. I sift through old dresses, uncertain. What's the point of dressing up, anyway? It just turns everything into a big production.


	10. Chapter 10

Fifteen minutes later, I creep back up the attic stairs.

It's transformed. There are candles everywhere and all the junk has been pushed away to make space for dancing. August stands there looking extremely pleased with himself as well as amazing in a dark suit. I'm in some kind of strapless midnight blue thing covered in diamonds. It's simple and it reminds me of the sky.

The music is soft and familiar and I can feel my body aching to move with it. August puts his arms around me, and I dance.

It's amazing. Nothing has changed. The steps are familiar and easy, the rhythm a part of my heartbeat, my feet sewn into the tempo. I spin, connected to August by just my fingertips, and twirl back into him. Before I know it I'm laughing. I feel spirited, free, beautiful.

"Daie?" August whispers in my ear after the seventh or eighth song. This one is much slower than all the others.

"Mmm?" I say, blissfully happy as I lean against him.

"I think I may be falling in love with you."

I break apart, stunned. "What?"  
>"Does that sound crazy?" He asks sheepishly. "I know I've only known you for like four days, but it feels like so much longer. Stranger things have happened, and-"<p>

"You don't need to defend yourself," I say quickly, still moving gently to the music. "I just-you make me feel so free, August. Whenever you touch me I feel like I'm electric. I think about you all the time. You're like nobody I've ever met. If that's love, then dammit, I'm full of it."

"What are you saying?" He breathes in my ear.

"I think I may be in love with you," I say simply, and as soon as I say the words I know they're true.

August takes my breath away. He makes me blissfully happy. He dazzles me, enamours me, challenges me, electrifies me. He makes me happy. He leans down and kisses me and he makes me feel as if I am the most important person in the world, as if no one matters but me.

The music changes. The new song is a classic fiddle tune, the fast, quaint, eager kind that is 12's anthem. All of a sudden we are dancing, feet flying, spinning and laughing. My hair is flying and my head is thrown back. The faster we move, the more I am soaring.

Dancing is so much better with someone you love.

August spins me and twirls me and pulls me back in. Our hands are constantly linked, fingers intertwined, as my feet sink back into the complicated steps I learned as a little girl.

"What are you two doing?"

Asher looks sleepy and bed-headed, but one of his eybrows is arched and he's grinning. His poems briefly come to mind. It's impossible to think that someone so full of life as he is wants to die.

"Dancing," I laugh, reaching out a hand as I spin past. "Come dance with us!"

"You can't be serious."

"Aw, come on, Asher," August coaxes, grinning. He grabs Asher's arm as we pass. He yanks Asher into our dance, grabbing one of his hands. I grab the other one and pull him into the music. His voice protests but his body doesn't. Soon, he is laughing, too.

Outside, the snow falls and the war looms heavy over 12. But inside is warm and full of music and love, laughter and life, and the promise that no matter what happens August loves me.

We dance long into the night, so the early-morning wakeup call is bitter and unwelcome. I groan inwardly as August shakes me awake.

"C'mon, soldier. You're training with us today. My unit wants me back."

"Am I allowed?" I ask, tumbling out of bed. I'm still in the crumpled blue dress from last night. I was too tired to change.

"You took down sixteen Peacekeepers in eleven minutes. If you can keep up, you're allowed."

Well, when you put it like that.

August loans me a holster. I sling my bow and my quiver of arrows over my shoulder and jog out to the Resting Place with him, where the 3rd and 4th divisions are stretching out. These are all the young people, everybody from seventeen to twenty-two. I just make that cut. I stand with Blake and August and two other boys, Red and Aren. I'm not the only girl, but my status as the Mockingjay's daughter and the bow over my shoulder sets me apart.

We run laps, then we pair up and spar under the general's supervision. When he gets to where Arena and I are hashing it out, teeth gritted as meet our match, he stands watching us longer than usual. He's frowning, but he's pretty much always doing that, so I pretend like he's not there and plow Aren into the ground with a head butt and kick to the groin. I play dirty, but hey, whatever gets the job done. Aren swears loudly and I smile prettily.

"Well done, Miss Everdeen," the general says grudgingly, "but next time, don't sack my men."

"Yessir," I mumble, blushing.

We line up at the makeshift, a hundred bulls-eyes lined up against the woods target range. The shots echo over the meadow, loud and angry. I flinch and my bullet goes way off target. Screw this. I yank my bow off my shoulder.

"Daie-" August says warningly.

I ignore him. I'm not in the army, anyway. I'm aware of all the eyes on me even as I let the arrow fly. It finds its mark in the heart of the bulls-eye. I grin, meeting the stares with a challenging gaze. So I'm different. Sue me.

We walk across 12 back to the train station for an obstacle course, stopping in the square to give them more setup time.

A hush falls over the chattering guards. I look up from my arm-wrestling match with Red (he's winning, I have like zero arm strength) to see Gale talking to the general.

And my mother is with him.

Her face is like the most well-known in Panem. I duck my head down, blushing. Of course everyone is having a star struck moment right now.

"That's your mother?" Red whispers incredulously.

I nod, sighing.

"No wonder you've got all the archery skills."

I look up, frowning. "You didn't recognize me before?"

"Why should I?"

I forgot he wasn't from 12. How refreshing to be liked for some other reason than your mother.

"No reason," I say, smiling a little.

Then I remember my mother doesn't want me here. She thinks I'm wandering around 12 with August or Asher. She's okay with me training alone with August-she showed up briefly yesterday while we were sparring-but that's where she draws the line. I was really hoping she would avoid the military.

I'm so screwed. I swear loudly.

"What?" August hisses.

"I'm not supposed to be here."

"Hate to break it to you, but you're dead meat," Aren puts in helpfully.

I look up. Of course the general pointed me out.

My mother looks like she may kill me herself. She walks over to me, her eyebrow raised.

"And what are you doing here?" She says coldly.


	11. Chapter 11

"Training," I say evenly.

"Don't do this," my mother says, looking pained. "Don't go marching into war."

"Too late," I say.

"This is exactly what I've been trying to protect you from your entire life!" My mother yells.

"But this is what I need to do!" I shout, suddenly angry that she can't get this through her head.

"Screw it!" My mother cries. "Screw that and stay safe! I never asked to go to war! I never wanted any of this! Why on Earth would you want to?"

"That's the problem isn't it?" I snap, furious. "I'M NOT YOU! I'M NOT YOU AND I WANT THIS!"

"I am your mother!" she screams. "I decide what you do or do not do!"  
>"Just like your mother did with you?" I snap. "When you ran off and got shot and shrapnel in your leg? I'm sure your mother was fine with that!"<br>It's a low blow and I know it.

"Stop it!" My mother shrieks. "That was different!"

"How!" I yell. "How is that any different from this? Aren't we all just protecting what we love?"

"That's what I'm trying to do!" My mother explodes.

"This is my choice," I snap. "You can't stop me."

"Try me," she hisses, furious. Her face is inches from mine. "I'm not about to let you die, Daie!"

"What makes you so sure I'm going to die?" I say, startled.

She pales slightly, but she's completely determined. "Nightmares," she says fiercely. "I've watched you die every night in my dreams. And I don't dream about something like that that often without it coming true."

"That's just dreams," I falter, terrified.

"Just like I dreamed about Rue dying? About Prim?" She says, her voice devastated. "I watched them die, Daie. And I dreamed about both of them dying before that. I have had zero reason to believe you would die until this war." She pulls a folded paper from her pocket. "Here," she whispers, her eyes full. "Peeta drew that. He paints or draws his nightmares, you know. Always has."

She presses the paper into my palm. Confused and worried, I quickly unfold it.

It's a figure lying on cobblestone, one arm flung above them, arced above their head over the stones. The other arm is flung to the side, the legs bent up slightly, the head facing upward. The eyes are closed, a tiny smile on the face. Blood pools around the person, soaking the familiar old hunting jacket and the cobblestone. It seems to be coming from their chest-a bullet wound.

My chest.

This is so clearly me, the long wavy dark hair, the features on my face, my clothes, the way my limbs ae bent. Dad has captured me perfectly in death. This cannot be anything but a premonition. This is too detailed, too perfect.

The paper slips out of my fingers and I'm running.

The woods flash by me, my legs fuelled by terror, my heart pounding, Fear creeps into my chest and explodes there. I could die. I may die. There is a very real chance that I will die.

I crash blindly through the woods, the pearly sky flashing through the leaves, lungs burning cold, clear air.

I stop at last, unable to orient myself, spinning desperately.

"Where are you?" I demand of myself. "Where are you?"

"DAIE!"

I whirl, and August is standing there, looking stricken. He races towards me and throws his arms around me.

"I'm not going to let this happen," he says fiercely. "It was just a dream, Daie. It was just a dream."

"How can you know that?" I say hopelessly. "My mother isn't wrong about much, August. She wouldn't have shown me that if she wasn't sure I would die in war. She wants to keep me safe."

"I want that," August whispers in my ear. "We'll keep you safe. I promise."

I shake my head. "I'm not going to watch this unfold in front of me. I'm going to war, August. This doesn't change anything."

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"Genes. And I just-I just have this feeling that I need to fight. I feel like I could make a difference, August. I can't let 12 go down. We're so fragile."

"The world is fragile, Daie."

"So let's make it stronger."

"I like that."

"Like what?"

"Making the world stronger. It's a beautiful idea. You're beautiful," he whispers in my ear again. "I'm not going to lose you."

"So you won't," I whisper back.

"You can't promise me that."

"Who can ever promise that, August? Life is a beautiful struggle. I intend to keep struggling, thanks."

He laughs bitterly. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"My head. My heart. Occasionally my pinkie finger."

"I'm sure that's a great source of comedy material."

"Like you wouldn't believe. I'll be fine, August. I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He leans down and kisses me for a long time, drawing out the one touch to last forever. My breath hitches in my throat. I'm terrified but determined, electrified, ready for this. Born for this. I feel as if I have met my purpose, my reason for being. I don't know how all my thoughts wound up hanging in the frosty air, but now that they're there, I feel strangely whole. This feeling is like being alive for the first time.

That's when the world explodes.

I whip my head around, staring. The fire reaches into the sky beyond us. Hovercraft fill the smoky sky, with the old Capitol seal emblazoned on their sides. Peacekeepers, bombing us. Again. 12 is under fire.

I'm running back through the woods, breathing smoke. The fire starts in the meadow, and this time, the Village was a target. Everything is gone, decimated, replaced by flames. The train station, the Square, it's all gone. The Justice Building is gone.

"The military," August breathes, ashen. "They were in the Square."

They were all in the Square. My parents, everybody. Screaming figures race from the flames towards us. The woods, and 13 beyond them , are a safe haven.

Aren't they?  
>Where is 13, our closest ally? They're bigger than we are now, stronger as the military HQ. Why haven't they stepped in?<br>It feels like it's too late.

Watching my world burn, I feel so hopeless. The incredible high I had in the woods with August is gone. I am watching myself lose everything and everyone I have ever known, and there is nothing I can do. I grip August's arm, feeling as if I may collapse.

"My family-" I start, crying.

"Run," Augusts says suddenly. I look up at him, startled. "What?"

"Run to 13. Take the road but stay off it. You can make it, you're smart," he says, his eyes fixed on 12. "There may be people in there. 12 still needs saving."

"I want to help!" I cry.

"They need you," he says simply, turning and facing me. "I see that now. They need you and they need you alive. Run. 13 can help us."

"Not without you," I say, knowing in my heart that he's right. He sees it now, that I need to help. That they need me. I feel almost relieved that someone finally gets it, gets me. And 13 may be my best chance. Completely killing off 12 doesn't help anybody, and August could be of use to them. They see me and they'll shoot.

My family is gone, almost definitely dead. I am the only one left. Who will stop the Peacekeepers from taking the rest of 12? Everyone is so desperate to avoid war that they are staying out of it, I realize somebody. They'll sooner watch 12 burn than wade into war. I have to make sure that doesn't happen.

I can't leave. It feels so wrong. And yet…and yet…

I have to leave. I have to. It's my only chance.

I look down. August has pressed something into my hand. It's my mother's pin, the famous mockingjay.

"I need you to run," he says desperately. "Please."

I grab his shirt and yank him in for a kiss. It's full of terror and desperation and smoke, but it's there.

"Don't die," I breathe, pulling apart.

"I can't promise that," he murmurs, tucking piece of hair behind my ear.

"Who can ever promise that?" I say, smiling slightly. I kiss him once more, fast, breaking my heart, then turn and leave a flaming 12 in ashes, and the only one I've ever loved.


	12. Chapter 12

I'm crying so hard I can barely see, but I keep going. They'll be rounding up anybody who's left, maybe killing them, maybe using them as soldiers. Who's next? 11, home of tiny Rue? 13, hub of the rebellion? Am I running in the wrong direction? Or are they content with simply destroying the Mockingjay and her legacy?

Gone. So much is gone. A thousand moments flit back to me-my father brushing my hair off my forehead, painting me in the meadow, laughing as the sun streamed in through the window behind him. My mother tensing for a kill, one of her rare but beautiful smiles, her perched in a tree, looking down at me with an expression of pure joy. Asher, my baby brother, my beautiful boy, writing at his desk, laughing with Dad, studying the history books he so loved.

Gone, but not forgotten.

It takes two days to get to 13 running on the new road. I don't eat. It rains ash. I sob until the tears are gone. I don't think I can keep going without them. I collapse on the side of the road and scream at the sky, scream at the universe for taking them from me. The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that if I can only get to 13, August and whoever's left could be saved.

I stumble out of the woods. 13 was built underground, but now, 30 years later, there are several new buildings on the surface, mostly military stuff. I'm starving, I'm cold and sooty and probably rabid-looking. Was it only three days ago that I danced with August under the stars?

"Stop!"

I look up, a guard pointing a gun at me. Intruders are not welcome in 13, and neither are trespassers. In answer, I hold out the mockingjay pin. "I need your help," I rasp.

I don't remember what happens next. Someone puts a blanket over my shoulders and I'm led past people who stare openly at me. Words and faces blur and I'm shivering. They sit me down at a large table and make me eat something. I come into focus.

I'm sitting in a huge conference room. There are some very important people here-the mayor of 13, Lenore Perkins, two Capitol people eyeing me in awe, a pair of military heads, and two other people I don't recognize.

"Can you tell me your name?" An old man who looks like a doctor asks gently.

"Daie," I croak, then swallow hard. "Daie Primrose Everdeen."

Somebody makes a small sound, a small, pitying sound. Startled, I look around for its source. One of the Capitol people, a woman, has made it. She looks as if she has been crying.

12 is gone, I realize. Lost. Given up on. The best thing people can do now is protect themselves. The Peacekeepers are a thousand times stronger than anyone expected.

"Daie, you said you needed our help," the doctor says in the same, calm measured voice. "What can we help you with?"

"You need to save 12," I whisper, knowing it sounds silly here in this room of people who have given up on 12.

"Honey, there's nothing left to save," the Capitol woman says softly.

I look up at her sharply. "There's plenty left," I snap. "I watched it burn and I know there's still plenty left."

"What's left?" The mayor asks in a calm voice.

"People. Memories." I say helplessly. "You can't just give up on an entire District."

"Like Panem gave up on 13 in the Dark Days?" Comes a cold voice.

"They thought we were obliterated," Lenore says sharply. "You can't blame them for that, Edwards." She turns to me. "What do you want us to do?"

"Get rid of the Peacekeepers."

"And invite them to war?" the cold voice of the man named Edwards snorts.

"Shut up," I snap, furious. I jump to my feet. "I have someone I love still out there! I can't give up on people who may still be alive! Do you know what it's like to lose everything and everyone? Do you know what it's like to watch them die? I refuse to give up on them!" I shout, tears pricking my eyes. "I refuse to let them die!"

Silence. I slump back in my chair, tears pouring down my face, glaring at them all.

"Fine," Lenore says eventually. "We'll go in."

"You can't be serious," someone says.

"I'm perfectly serious," she says coolly. "You can't give up on an entire district."

"Have you seen the footage?" Someone explodes. "Nobody could've survived that?"

"If that's true," Lenore says, holding a hand out and accepting a tablet from the person next to her, "then what is this live footage showing?"

It's a video feed, an aerial shot of the ruins of 12. Shadows in complete darkness. Except for the distinctive glow of electric lights twinkling out there.

"Someone is still there, and I will abandon them when, and only when, the Peacekeepers outnumber the entire nation of Panem." Lenore says evenly. She has dark hair swept up professionally and is wearing deep blue suit with 13's crest, and is amazingly calm and collected, so clearly in charge. I stare at the image of the lights, feeling fresh tears soak my cheeks. Someone's still alive.

"What if those are just Peacekeepers?" Someone points out. My heart sinks.

"If there was nothing left, they wouldn't return to would move on to their next target," Lenore says. "Something or someone is still there. We need to move fast, before they move out. It's already been days."

Has it? Has time passed? I stare stupidly down at my food. Soup. I hadn't even noticed. It smells like home.

Lenore starts shooting out orders. By land and by hovercraft, the 13 troops will move in and engage with the hostile forces. Meanwhile a rescue team will move in and evacuate the remaining 12ers. The mission is massive and complicated, but that's the gist of it. It will take at least twenty-four hours to move out.

I realize vaguely that they are going to do this without me. And I cannot let that happen.

My bow and arrows are still slung over my shoulder. No one has taken them off, since the quiver is strapped across my chest with a buckle and the bow is plastered to my jacket with sap. They are talking, talking, talking, and no one is paying any attention to me.

"I want to go," I say, but no one listens. Frustrated, I pull my bow off my shoulder, leaving my jacket still sticky with sap, string an arrow through it, and shoot the wall across from me.

Everyone whips their head around.

"I'm going!" I yell. "You can't stop me!"

"Apparently not," Lenore says, unruffled. "Assign her to one of the rescue divisions, the young one-the 7th?"

"Done," somebody says.

"Thank you," I say, flopping back into my chair.

The doctor frowns. "That's enough for now. I want her resting and healing overnight. Come on, Daie."

He leads me down several hallways, and into a small room. He gives me something to help me sleep and stuff to wear and a shower.

I feel empty. I feel like the only thing keeping me going is the thought of seeing August again. I turn my pin over and over in my hands, crying as I fall asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

When I wake up, I'm alone. I remember everyone who is gone, but all I feel is hollow, and broken. There's clothes for me to wear laid out on a chair, the jumpsuit of a military personnel. I fix the pin over my heart and braid my hair.

It is an honour to look like my mother.

The doctor appears. I look up just as I am lacing my boots. My bow and arrows are gone.

"Where did they go?" I ask, pointing to where my clothes were the night before.

"Being cleaned," he says soothingly. "How are you feeling?"

I just lost everything. How does he think I feel? I feel like I may never be whole again. I feel lost. But mostly, I feel like I need to get back to 12 or die trying.

"Okay," I say, which is a lie.

"Eat this," he orders, pressing some kind of supplement into my hand. "Come on. I'll take you to your unit."

Unit. The word makes me think of August. I squeeze my eyes shut. Where is he? How is he? He is still with me. I know he is. I just have to get to him.

I follow the doctor through the halls. My mother walked here, lived here, breathed and ate and cried here. It is all I have left of her. I run my hands over the walls. Some people do double-takes when they see me, especially military people who look as least as old as my mother is. Was. They must've known her.

There's military personnel everywhere, running around in a massive hurry. I want to run with them. But I ache for the fresh air.

I find myself in a debriefing room, where at least a hundred people roughly my age are gathered.

"This is Daie," the doctor murmurs to the man in charge, a general. "Last and only one out of 12. She's here to fight."

"Mockingjay's daughter?" The general asks, eyeing my pin.

I nod. "I need some arrows."

"I'll get you some. But you'll be working with a rescue mission, which means your main priority is to find any survivors and get them back to the hovercraft. If you were to run into any Peacekeepers, you need to evade them."

"By any means necessary?"

"Which is why we arm you."

I nod, conscious of the people staring at me but no longer caring.

The division is briefed and divided into squads. I'm in squad 9, along with eleven others who will be handling the Square, or what's left of it. There are nine boys, me, and one other girl who looks like she would rather be anywhere but here.

We're directed to the armory, and stuff is handed out, guns and bulletproof vests and combat gear. They take me aside and give me a bow and arrows.

The bow is exactly like my mother's, and the model is named for her, the Mockingjay bow. There are three types of arrows-fire, explosive and razor-sharp. I love the feel of the weapons, how easy they are to use. My squad gets a shot at the target range, and I test out my new weapon.

I feel the tears running down my cheeks as I fire away. My mother is everywhere today.

I put the bow down and wipe away my tears, This won't get me into combat.

We are scheduled to go in to 12 at eleven am tomorrow. The people staging an attack against the Peacekeepers are scheduled to go into 12 at 10:00.

I'm heading back to the dining hall with a couple of nice guys from my squad when people start brushing by me.

"-miracle," they're saying. "Three days in the woods-barely made it into 13-"

Then it hits me.

Someone made it out of 12.

And-we're running.

Arms pumping legs going lungs burning sprint.

I follow the tide of people until I reach the crowd. I shove my way through it.

It may not be someone you know, I tell myself. But at this point even a complete stranger is better than nothing.

I push my way to the front of eth crowd, and there he is. Wide terrified eyes and burns across his arms and tears on his cheeks, but alive.

"ASHER!" I scream, running forward. He whirls and we collide, arms and tears and shouts.

"You're alive," I gasp, pressing his head to my shoulder. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Dad-Mom- "he starts, his voice thick. "the fire-"

"Shh," I whisper, tears coursing down my cheeks. "It's okay. We're okay."

He nods numbly, his arms wrapped around me like a vice. I don't let him let go.

He's alive. Oh, my baby brother is alive. I feel like I could sing from happiness, cry from sheer joy. I thought I'd lost him forever. I can keep going now. I can keep living for him. I feel healed inside, inexplicably comforted by his being.

"How did you get here?" Asher asks hoarsely.

"Followed the road. Ash, did anyone else come with you?" I think to ask.

He shakes his head. "But there are people there, Daie. They didn't touch the market. Everyone ran there, then hovercraft came and started rounding people up so I ran. That's how I got these-I had to go through the fire to make it," he says, holding up his burn-covered arms.

"What about-" I start.

"Our parents are gone. No one saw them make it to the market. But August was there, Daie. He helped me get away. He said to give you a message."

My breath hitches in my throat as fresh pain rips through me. That's it then. My family is gone.

"What message?" I gasp.

"He said to remember the rooftops. And Rue's whistle." Asher mumbles. I can see exhaustion and pain etched in every part of him.

A doctor I don't know appears.

"I need to stay with him," I say immediately. Asher is gripping my sleeve like he may never let go.

What's he going to do when I leave tomorrow? I have to now more than ever.

I think of August's message as I follow Asher down the hall, gripping his hand fiercely. I am so, so grateful that he's still with me. August survived the blaze! I close my eyes and think of him and feel a smile cross my face. "You're alive!" I want to scream. "You're alive!"

Now I just have to figure out his message.

Remember the rooftops. I think back to what we said. That we are never alone, I realize suddenly. He said we are never alone.

August is not alone in 12. I knew this. Someone in particular must still be with him. Someone important, but someone he didn't want anyone in 13 to know about. I know this is it! I just know it!

But who would we both know that he wouldn't want 13 to know was with him? Blake? Some of the other military guys? Gale? No, none of those options make any sense. I turn my mind to his other message: Rue's whistle.

Of course I know what that is. The long, eerie four notes that meant Rue was safe in the arena. My mother used the whistle when she was teaching me how to sing to mockingjays. He must mean to us eit as a signal-a signal for what? For my being there?

He wants me alone, I realize. I need to talk to him alone. Someone is with him. Someone 13 can't know about.

So I have to break away from my squad and find him. Somehow. And he may or may not have someone very dangerous/secret/vital with him.

This is going to be hard.

I sit with Asher for a long time. They treat his burns and feed him and give him water, and clean him up and do a few other things. I'm thinking furiously, my forehead resting on Asher's and my linked hands.

"I'm so glad you're alive," I whisper.

"I knew you were here," Asher whispers back, wincing as they warp gauze around his forearm. "August told me where you'd gone." He looks at me with tears in his eyes. "Mom and Dad are gone."

"I know," I say gently. "But we're gonna be okay, Ash. Promise."

"You look like her," he says distractedly.

"Like who?" I ask, confused.

"Like Mom."

That's the nicest thing he may have ever said to me.

I sit with him until he sleeps, feeling electric with purpose. I know I leave him tomorrow, possibly forever. I haven't forgotten my conversation with my mother about my death.

That was my last conversation with her. And I screamed at her. When was the last time I saw my Dad? That morning? No, it was the night before. It's killing me that I never said goodbye.

I can't let the rest of 12 go. Or any other district. Who knows what it'll take to stop these Peacekeepers.

How do so many people evade detection for so long? How could this force, this military, have not been found in thirty years? There must've been a plan as soon as they knew the Capitol might fall, this backup plan. Executed to take revenge on the people who inflicted pain on them. To continue the reign of terror.

I look down at Asher, sleeping peacefully. Asher, an orphan.

This is messed up. This is wrong. I should be home with my parents. I should be looking out over 12 laughing with August.

How did I let this happen?

I shove my fist against the wall and scream. This can't be happening to me! This can't be happening to me!

I can't let this happen again.

Ever.

No one else dies after tomorrow. They go down or I die trying.

And there is a very real possibility that will happen.


	14. Chapter 14

"Don't leave me, Daie!"

Asher is crying, which scares me. I clutch him to me, crying myself.

"I'll come back," I whisper hoarsely. "I promise." I can't leave him alone. I refuse to die out there.

Asher is pleading and crying, and I force myself to wrench my arm away from him. "I love you Ash. I love you," I'm saying, and he says it back, but he's crying so hard he can't see.

I leave the room, but I can't make myself walk down to the hangar. I duck into a bathroom, grip the edges of the sink and try to focus.

I feel so different. Scarred and determined and electric. I thought about August all night. It keeps me going, the thought of him. Leaving Asher feels like cutting off a limb. But when I look in the mirror, I see my mother in all her determination and fierce glory.

The room behind me is reflected in the mirror. My old hospital room. My jacket and bow and arrows are draped across a chair. I pull on the familiar old jacket, breathing in the smell of ashes and fire that seems to still linger in the leather. The pin gleams gold over my heart. I carefully finger one of my arrows, then place it back in the sheath. I won't need them now. For better or for worse, I'm leaving them behind.

I take a long, shaky pull of air. I can do this. I can. I will.

I turn and leave the room.

I head down to Special Defense, where everyone is suiting up and arming themselves. They give me a pair of truly amazing boots, a bulletproof vest and a heavy weapons belt. I strap my quiver of arrows on and pull my bow over my shoulder. Zero hour is coming.

The screens around Special Defense show a war. 12 is a mess of people, gunfire and explosions. Ashes billow up at the slightest movement. But you can see the people, the shiny uniforms of the Peacekeepers, the uniforms of the soldiers, and the ragged, ashy faces of the remaining citizens of 12.

They're right in front of me. I drink in the sight of them. Hope flares inside me and chases away the pain. Soon I'll see August and my home. Soon I can make a difference.

I climb into a hovercraft where the rest of my Squad is strapped in and silent. A lot of eyes on me, but since I have zero idea how the military works, I'm just following my squad leader, Soldier Dalton.

For now, anyway.

The flight is short. I rest my head against the back of my seat and try to focus. Breathing in and breathing out.

My name is Daie Primrose Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. I belong in District 12. District 12 is a wasteland. But there are people left. I will save them. And then I am going to spend the rest of my life with August.

Asher sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, getting increasingly restless. Daie was gone. He could hardly stand not knowing where she was, what she was doing, if she was alive.

Don't think that, he told himself. She'll be fine.

He thought of August's face, blurry through the flames licking up around 12. How determined he looked to get his message to Daie. He really did love her. Asher couldn't make sense of the message himself, but Daie seemed to have figured it out. Not that she had told him what it meant. Nobody ever told him anything.

Asher was frustrated and confused and exhausted. He had walked three days alone in woods he had never been comfortable in. He had watched the ash-rain fall and cried for his family. He had kept going, believing he would find Daie and finally feel safe again.

Maybe it was because she was just as broken as he was, so changed and war-ready, in love and grieving and so much like their mother. Maybe it was because 13 was so stark and militaristic and unfamiliar, full of people who stared at him and people he didn't know. Maybe it was because the only thing he really wanted was to bury himself in his history books and his writing and see his parents again. Asher didn't feel safe, for whichever of those reasons, or maybe a combination of all three. He felt different, marked by loss and unfamiliar, he felt unsure and uncertain, restless and lost. He felt older. Everything had changed so fast.

He couldn't stay in that little white room anymore.

Asher got up and wandered the halls. Everything was abuzz. People everywhere, everybody seeming to belong to some sort of branch of the military.

That was how he found himself in Command.

The room was full of people who either didn't notice him or were too busy to care that he was there. The room was full of screens, all of them showing 12, aerial footage from hovercraft and handheld from divisions on the ground. People were giving orders and theorizing and running things. 12 was a mess, the fight scattered all over the wreckage and the footage varied and complicated. One screen showed August decking a Peacekeeper, then running off, apparently looking for someone or something. It was good to see him alive. Six soldiers were locked in a firefight with a dozen Peacekeepers in the ruins of the Village and the Resting Place was a full out battlefield.

Asher squinted at a screen showing the Peacekeeper's base. There were several parked hovercraft and what looked like a hastily set-up camp full of Peacekeepers battling soldiers.

The hovercraft were old. Asher recognized them instantly from his history books. "Old shield models," he mumbled, leaning in for a closer look. "Weak spots on the underbellies and wing tips, unbalanced in high winds, speeds of 400 miles per hour at maximum power."

One of the analysts gave Asher a look. "Who are you?"

"Asher Everdeen," he said distractedly, pointing at something onscreen. "That's a trudie missile launcher. Outdated and flammable."

"Jackson! Come check out this kid!" the analyst yelled. Somebody ran over. "What?" he asked distractedly.

"This kid's got stats on all the Peacekeepers' equipment," the analyst said, looking impressed. "What's the weak spot of that hovercraft? The third model to the left."

"That's a cargo model," Asher said immediately. "It carries up to six thousand pounds at speeds of 250 miles an hour. But it unbalances easily and it has weak spots where its wings and landing gear meet the body of the craft. They stopped using those twenty, thirty years ago."

"Impressive," the second analyst said approvingly. "We could use you here. What's your name?"

"Asher Everdeen," he said, glowing a little with pride. Finally, something useful he could do!

"Well, Asher, I'm Jackson and this is Markam. What can you tell us about these craft?"

At the same time Asher is in Command, Daie lands in 12.

The hovercraft hits the hard earth with a jolt. We scramble out of the craft and into a warzone.

Dalton, my squad leader, yells "MOVEMOVEMOVE!" The world is a mass of gunfire and smoke. We landed at the edge of the Village, where a firefight rages only a hundred yards away.

"Squad, with me!" Dalton yells. I shriek a little as I run, covering my head with my arms, leaping over wreckage. My squad dives into an alley formed by debris and I gasp for air.

That was insane.

The war rages just next to us, loud and angry. I peer over a slab of concrete and catch a glimpse of a Peacekeeper hitting the ground.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Breathe, Daie.

"We're headed for the market," Dalton barks. "Stick with me. Our job is to round up strays. We keep moving, got it?"

We nod.

"Let's move!"


	15. Chapter 15

My squad takes off running. Their mission may be to round up whoever's left from12, but mine is to find August. I start whistling Rue's four notes, straining to hear a reply amidst the gunfire and explosions. Soldiers rush by us, shouting, "There's survivors in the market!"

And then suddenly I hear it. Four long, low, eerie notes. I whip my head around even as my squad starts running. I'll have to leave them sooner than I thought, but in this chaos, they may not even notice.

I whistle back. The tune comes again, from a pile of wreckage to my right that forms an alley with another pile on my left.

August.

I rush into the alley, bow raised just in case. "August?" I hiss. "August?"

"Daie!" I whirl, and there he is. A cut along his cheekbone, the knee of his pants torn, his hair tousled, face smudged with ash and his boots unlaced, he has never looked more perfect. The feeling of seeing him is indescribable, a whirlwind sensation of pure joy. I jump into his arms, throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, fiercely. We gaps for air and shout stupid things at each other, things like "I love you" and "you could've died" and "Never leave me again!" And then we say things back, "I promise" and "I love you" and "we're okay, we're okay." The world slams away, and all that's left si the fact that we're here, alive, together, and everything's going to be alright now.

"You shouldn't have come," August whispers, his forehead resting on mine, his fingers brushing my cheek. He smells of ash and fire and fight. I breathe deep. "Had to," I murmur. "You know I did."

He doesn't say anything, just cups my chin in his hand and kisses me. "I'm so glad you're alive," he murmurs. "I wasn't sure if you made it to 13. Then the soldiers showed up and I knew you had. You persuaded them to come back, didn't you?"

"Maybe," I admit. "I think they would've come back anyway. They saw the lights."

"But they wouldn't have just marched into war," August points out. "What'ch you do?"

I blush furiously. "Shot an arrow at them."

"Seriously?"

I shrug. "No one was paying attention to me. What's been happening?"

"They rounded up everybody and imprisoned them back at their camp. They sent out patrols to see if anyone was left. They were still doing that. They wanted to make a spectacle of us. Air our executions on television to show what happens to people who took down the Games. Then 13 showed up and we managed to break out. Lots of people are hiding in the Justice Building ruins an dthe rest of us are fighting."

I have to ask. I swallow hard. "My parents…they're really gone?"

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek. "So's my Dad. I'm so sorry, Daie. Your home…"

I shake my head vehemently. "No, we can't linger on that. We need to focus on taking down the Peacekeepers."

Suddenly my earpiece crackles. "Soldier Everdeen! Soldier Everdeen! Where are you?"

Right. My squad. I hit the button to turn on my speaker. "I'm here!" I shout as gunfire explodes nearby. "I got lost! Dalton, there are survivors in the Justice Building! Can you hear me? West edge of the square!"

"Copy that, soldier Everdeen. Do you need us to come get you?"

"No, I'm with a soldier. Just find them!"

I yank out my earpiece.

"That was Dalton," I say breathlessly. "They're rounding up survivors."

Suddenly a massive explosion rocks the ground under our feet. "Get down!" August shouts. I hit the cobblestone as pieces of wreckage rain down on us. The dust fill my throat and I hack up a lung.

I'm scared. But I'm also alive. Victory is so close! I came this far. There's no turning back.

I shriek as a slab of concrete slams into the ground next to me. "Move!" August yells, and we're running, still low to the ground, out into a less sheltered area. Nothing is recognizable.

Chaos and destruction surround us. People take no notice of us as they fight their own battles. I can make out the battlefield that is the Resting Place from here, the ruins of the square where figures dart back and forth, and an enemy camp full of hovercraft.

That's their base. It'll have the escape routes, the ammunition, the grenades, everything.

"We need to take that out!" I shout at August.

"I have someone who can help with that!" He yells over the sounds of war.

That's right. The person 13 can't know about. "Who?" I shriek as a grenade explodes not twenty feet to my right. This is insane! We start sprinting anywhere, just away.

"Would you believe your brother?"

"What about him?"

"He's our secret genius. He's why you're never alone. Daie, as I was talking to him, I realized he has the weak spot of every piece of equipment they have memorized. Can you get a line to him?"

It makes sense now. I'm never alone, because I have Asher. Asher, with his wealth of military info, could save us all.

"Why don't you want 13 to know about him?" I ask, ducking behind a slab of concrete to catch my breath. Bullets whiz over my head and I duck, heart in my mouth. This is insane! I think for the umpteenth time.

"I didn't care, but I feel like they would question a fourteen year old knowing so much about war. It's a little off. It explains how he got material for his poems."

Oh. I just read too much into his message, that's all. I did nail the whole whistle thing, though. Look at me! I went from hunter to soldier in like a week!

A bullet cracks into a hunk of cement and dust flies everywhere. I cough as I turn my earpiece on.

Asher was in charge.

He had been watching every screen, every moment, shouting out stuff about strategies and weak spots. People started listening to him and acting on the information.

"We need to get rid of their base," Asher yelled, running alongside a series of screens showing various angles of the camp. "It'll be like blowing up the Career's supplies in the 74th games. They'll be sitting ducks."

"Can't drop bombs on them," someone shouted from a control panel. "We could hit our on."

"Foot soldiers," Asher ordered, thinking fast. He was in full military mode. It felt natural and easy and like he'd been born for it. He loved this feeling, savoured it. Every moment was spent thinking about the next. "With grenades. They need to get in the hovercraft and take them down from the inside out. They need to target the crates of ammunition. That'll start a blaze. Meantime we'll need rescue people getting survivors out of there."

"Look at this!" Someone shouted. August dashed over, and watched Daie break away from her squad. Then he saw August, saw them collide, then talk furtively and intensely. There was an explosion an dust obscured the feed. When it cleared up, they were on the next screen, then the next, running towards the square.  
>"What are you doing?" Asher breathed, deep in thought. He watched Daie duck behind some concrete. "What do you need from me?"<p>

"Everdeen?"

Asher turned. A communications guy was gesturing to a microphone at his desk. "This is feed from her earpiece. She's asking for you."

Asher's heart soared and he scrambled into the chair. "Daie?"

"Asher!" She was shouting, her voice muffled, but the sound of it was music to his ears. Asher breathed a sigh of relief. "Ash, we need to take down their base! What do we do?"

This was better than he could've hoped for. He watched her screen as he talked.

"Okay. We're ordering both you and two squads to camp. Arm yourselves with grenades and split up. You need to get survivors out of the camp ASAP. Then I need people to trigger the grenades inside of each of the hovercraft, and two people to set fire to the ammunition crates. You'll be under heavy fire."

"-diversion?" Static crackled over the line.

That could work. A diversion so they could carry out the mission. "I'll work on it." Asher leaned away from the mic. "What've we got as far as missiles?" He hollered.

"Two ballistic in air."

"Get them two clicks east from base. That should keep them busy."

"How come?"

"It's where they've got their Command center set up."

"They have Command separate from base?" Daie's voice crackled.

"For safety. Up until now it was low priority. But we blow up that, leave them without orders, then get rid of the base, it's cake."

"You're genius!" Daie shouted. "How do you know all this?"

"Born with it, I guess."

"You're amazing. We're headed out to the base now."

"Copy that." 

And the war began for real.


	16. Chapter 16

We're running through a warzone when something explodes nearby.

At first all I feel is a sense of penetration I can't place, and I get knocked to my knees. I scramble to my feet and try running after August, but pain is kindling along my right side. It starts like an ember but begins to blaze like a wildfire. I stumble, clutching my side and gasping for air.

"August," I gasp, and I look down to see blood soaking the side of my jacket and my hand. I sink to my knees, in shock. I feel cold and numb and on fire.

Did I just get shot?

"Daie!"

August is next to me, his face like a sheet. The world shifts alarmingly and I crumple onto my back.

The sky is so blue. I breathe in, but it seems to take so much more effort than usual. The air is so, so cold, and full of ash and dust. I breathe out, closing my eyes. The sky's blue is like crystal imprinted on my eyelids.

My mother was right. The sketch was right. I am going to die.

A thousand moments of sky fill my head. The sky through the splendid green of treetops on a summer's day. Reflected in the glassy lake. Blue over a snowy 12 on New Year's when everyone is in the Square, breathing in the cold air and celebrating. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue is such a sleeping, dreaming color…

"Daie!"

August yanks me into a sitting position and I everything whips back into focus. It's too sharo and too painful, but I gasp for air and burst into tears. Oh my gosh. I was ready to die. I thought I was about to die. I can't do that again, never again. August's eyes are all I can focus on, terrified but determined. He has seen this before, been through this before, watched his friends get shot before. He knows what to do. Okay. Okay. I'm alive. I'm gonna be okay.

"We have to move!" August orders.

He slings my arm around his shoulder and scoops me up. Running kills, but as soon as he sets me down behind a big pile of debris I feel more alert. I let out a low hiss as I take my hand off the wound. Blood is soaking my side.

"Bullet," I manage through gritted teeth. It hit just above my hip, and looks more like a flesh wound than anything else when August lifts up my jacket and rips through the fabric of my uniform. I was never going to die, but I swear my heart stopped for a second back there. I never want to go through that system shock again. Ever.

"Eyes on me," he orders. I stare at him, feeling as scared as a small child in a thunderstorm.

"I'm gonna bind this and we have to keep moving," August orders, dead serious. "You hear me? You have to keep moving. Stay with me."

I nod, speechless, still trying to pull myself together Calm down! I scream silently. Haven't I been through worse? When you hunt, you get hurt. I've cut myself with arrowheads and knives, accidentally shot myself in the foot with an arrow, got caught up in atwitch-up snare, fallen out of countless trees…I'm calling it. A gunshot wound tops all of that. Easily. I should've been more aware! Stupid, stupid, stupid, Daie, I tell myself, determined to work through this. I fumble around my utility belt until I find the roll of bandages, focusing on breathing evenly. I grip August's shoulders as he winds bandages around my hips. This hurts more, but I grit my teeth and bear it. I. Will. Get. Through. This.

"Ready?" August asks, grabbing my hand. He kisses me quickly on my forehead. "Hang in there."

"I will," I manage.

"That's my girl," he whispers, and gives me a quick kiss. That helps. He pulls me to my feet and I hiss in pain. . IT.

I sling an arm around August's shoulder, then realize my earpiece is dangling on its wire and shove it back in. Asher is screaming.

"I'm okay," I yell. "Just a scratch! Calm down!"

"Getting shot is not getting a scratch!" He screeches, almost hysterical.

"Pull yourself together," I snap, knowing snapping will feel more normal for us. "Geez, Ash, don't wimp out."

"I'm not wimping," he snaps. "Don't get shot again, okay?"

"I was totally planning on it," I say, relieved that he seems more himself.

"Oh, shut up."

I would smile if I weren't in a warzone or shot or in pain. Since I am all of the above, I just shift my weight to my good side and hiss, "Let's go."

"Tough as nails," August says, smiling encouragingly at me. "This is going to hurt."

"August, breathing hurts. Can we get on with it?" I say crabbily, but giving him a quick kiss.

Asher was in trouble.

Granted, so were most of the people in Command. Apparently bit wasn't appropriate to have a fourteen-year-old calling the shots in a war. A grouchy commander named Edwards came in and yelled at people while other people continued carrying out Asher's plan.

"Sir, Everdeen possess a wealth of military information," one of the analysts started. "To be honest, we could use his intel. He's already designed a foolproof plan to destroy their base."

"I don't care what he did," Edwards growled furiously. "He's fourteen, Markam!"

"Could we at least let him observe?" The analyst, Markam, said timidly.

"Fine," Edwards snapped. "But I'm in charge, got it?"

There was a chorus of "yessirs".

"Okay kid," Markam hissed as he led Asher towards the main screens. "What next?"

Asher suppressed a grin. It was great, being needed. And disobeying authority was something he'd done his entire life.

That was when he watched Daie get shot.

The outskirts of the base are surrounded by piles of rubble that were cleared away to make room for the camp. This is where two squads and a ragtag assortment of miscellaneous soldiers have gathered, hunched behind the wreckage.

Someone hands me a couple of pills.

"A morphling-adrenaline mix," the guy says. "It'll keep you going."

"Thanks," I say gratefully, swallowing them dry.

"Okay, Ash, on your signal," August says. He's kind of in charge, relaying orders from Ash to us. I'm on a team with him and the guy who handed me the pills, Whit, blowing up one of the hovercraft. The plan is entirely based on separate teams carrying out respective missions. We're all linked through our earpieces.

"On my signal," Asher says. Suddenly a massive explosion rocks the ground. A mushroom cloud of dust rises a couple of clicks east. Their Command being bombed.

"NOW!" Asher orders, and we dart forwards amidst an explosion of gunfire from within the camp.


	17. Chapter 17

The pills do their job. The pain reduces to a sharp but manageable throbbing. The adrenaline has me raring to go, although I shriek as gunfire criss-crosses above us. I still have my bulletproof vest, although its weak spot has already been penetrated. Hopefully it can stop a hit to the chest. It's still terrifying to race through a warzone.

August whips out his gun and starts returning fire. I pull out my bow and follow suit even as we run.

"This way!" Whit yells, firing two quick shots to the right. Already the combined efforts of everybody has stopped most of the oncoming fire. The snipers, hidden amidst the wreckage, are either running or shot.

I stop firing and race for the hovercraft, ducking under wings and landing gears. Surely, some of the craft are bombers, but now they risk killing their own. They may be out of bombs, anyway. There must be some limit to their resources. Hopefully, the craft are unmanned.

"How do we open the doors?" Whit yells.

"Ash, a little help!" I yell, pressing myself to the underbelly of the craft as a fresh wave of gunfire cracks nearby.

"Hit the keypad! The mechanism will be destroyed and the doors can be kicked down!" Ash yells.

August pulls out his gun and fires at the keypad, causing a mini-explosion of sparks and wires. Yikes.

"One three, ram the door?" Whit suggests.

Works for me. I back up as much as I dare, bracing myself. This is going to hurt the gunshot wound.

"Onetwothree!" Whit yelps, and the door creaks loudly before giving way inwards. Weird. "I thought the doors opened outwards," I shout at Ash.

"They do, but the mechanism controls the electric hinges. They'll stop working and move either way if they're destroyed." He explains.

Oh.

I barrel into the hovercraft, bow raised. Gunfire explodes to my lefy, but Whit is already shooting. There's a thud as a Peacekeeper slips to the ground. Now we wait until the 12 survivors are clear, arm the grenade, and run like heck.

Gunfire outside comes closer. I swallow hard.

"How much time do you need?' Auguts yells, glancing out a window .

"Three minutes! Tops!"

"Hurryhurryhurry," I hiss. We're sitting ducks in here. Obviously, the Peacekeepers regroup fast. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!

An explosion, too close by, rocks the ground. I grab a rail lining the low roof and yelp as the ground shakes. "Asher!" 

"You're clear!" He shouts. "Go go go go go!"

Whit arms the grenade and we race out of the craft. Outside is an active warzone, but we run fast and shoot as we sprint. I throw myself to the ground just as the hovercraft explodes.

All of them do, my fellow soldiers racing away and some of them thumping to the ground next to me. Yells fill the air. The world is ablaze as the ammunition explodes in a massive boom that has my ears ringing. I'm screaming but the sound is completely drowned out. I cover my head with my arms as flaming wreckage rains down, but still the explosions don't stop.

Finally, after what seems like eons, the world stop shuddering under me. Everything is still.

So, so still.

I choke a little as I slowly push myself into a sitting position. The smoke is so thick!

"August!" I yell. "August!"

"Here," he calls, emerging through the smoke.

I scramble to my feet and hug him quickly.

The smoke is starting to clear, float upwards. The soldiers around me start getting to their feet, taking stock of themselves.

"Where's Whit?" I ask suddenly, turning.

That's when I see him, fifty yards away, his body aflame. Gunned down then set afire.

"Whit!" I scream, leaping forward, but August grabs my arm. "Can't help him," he says, his face pained.

Whit is not the only one. Bodies of both Peacekeepers and soldiers litter the ground, staining it red.

I clap my hands over my mouth, falling to my knees. Around me the world reduces to blood and gore, the horrors of war. Gone. So many gone…

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree…"

I turn. A soldier with haunted eyes has slumped to his knees. He stares vacantly at his surroundings, singing the song of war that has been our anthem for so long.

"Where they strung up a man they say murdered three…"

"Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be," someone rasps, their voice joining the soldier's. "If we met up at midnight at the hanging tree."

One by one, voices fill the silent, empty air. My lips move but make no sound.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree… where dead man called out for his love to flee… strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

The world is empty.

Empty and grey, with lifeless bodies strewn around me. The voices rise, haunting and echoing as we watch the fires burn and the bodies lie there.

Pointless.

This whole thing is pointless.

No one else dies today. No one, not a single innocent soul. I watch the fires burn and I burn inside. I have killed. I have watched others being killed. I am empty, I am soulless, I am brave, I am determined. I will end this war no matter the cost.

"Coming to the tree…"

I get to my feet. "Ash," I say in a strangled voice. "What's the stat on the war?"  
>"There are seventy-six Peacekeepers left. They have no Command and only the ammunition they carry. There are roughly a hundred and twenty survivors from 12 on the ground and one hundred and seven in transit. There are barely one hundred active soldiers on the ground with you, though, and most are injured. We can get reinforcements to you in an hour, tops."<p>

"Not soon enough," I say, snapping my bowstring in frustration. "Let's finish this."

"Are you sure?"

"If we met at midnight at the hanging tree…"

"Yes," I whisper, staring at the destruction around me.

"The Peacekeepers are re-grouping in the Square. Oh-oh no. Oh, no. Daie, you won't like their strategy."

"What?" I ask, dread filling my heart.

"You know the hundred and twenty survivors on the ground? Eighty-ninety-ninety-three-ninety-six of them have been rounded up in the Square. I think they're going to execute all of them if you don't back down."

"Are you kidding me!" I yell, furious, kicking a hunk of rock as far as I can. "So you mean ninety-six people are going to die?"

"It's a last resort, Daie. A bad plan. We can outsmart this."

Yes, we can. But those people can't. They'll kill them and then kill themselves, or worse. They're desperate. You can smell it in the air. A last-ditch attempt at winning, that's all this is. But dangerous, oh, so dangerous.

"What do we do?" I demand.


	18. Chapter 18

It's not the rifle pointed at me.

The Peacekeeper pointing at me drops to the ground like a stone. I scream, relief crashing over me just as the fresh blast of terror hits. Because it's August who has a dozen guns pointed at him now, and I dive to the side just as one of them goes off.

The soldiers are storming down the pile of wreckage, not just what remains of the ragtag band of hovercraft bombers, but all the soldiers. Asher muts have gotten them here.

The world explodes into fire, but I can't tell where August it. "August!" I scream, scrambling on my knees towards cover. I feel like crying as the shock sets in, but all I can do is scream for him, hoping he'll reply, because I don't think I can keep going without him now.

"DAIE!"

Someone tackles me from the side and I hit the ground, the bullet wound screeching in pain. I gasp for air, pinned to the ground. "What the HELL!" I scream, struggling to move.

I twist my neck up and stare into August's dreaming eyes.

"August," I gasp, feeling every part of me uncoil with relief.

"Never, _ever_ scare me like that again," he says through gritted teeth. "Get out of here! Go!"

I'm too scared, too shaken to do anything but nod and scramble away, stumbling to my feet and ducking as I run, the guttural scream resonating from deep inside me. That was worse than fear. That was horror. I never, ever want to stand and face death like that again.

I scramble back up the wreckage and jam my earpiece in. "Ash," I gasp, my throat sore from screaming. He's crying and my name comes out, such a lost, strangled sound. Not helpful. I yank the erapiece out, sinking to my knees, shaking.

I scan the battle. Already Peacekeepers are dropping to the ground. Most are running, running, running, running away. There's nowhere to go. There's nowhere for me to go, either. 12 is gone. After this, 13 is my home. Either that or another district. Thirty years of reconstruction, gone.

I watch the fight feeling disconnected. Most of the Peacekeepers are gone, the soldiers having gone after them. There's maybe a half a dozen Peacekeepers exchanging fire from vantage points in the wreckage, and seven or eight soldiers firing away.

The hostages are mostly gone, running towards the Resting Place, but I suddenly realize a dozen of them still crouch, terrified, amidst the fire. The wires are still loosely bunched around them.

One of the Peacekeepers hunches down behind his comrade, who is firing at the soldiers, who have taken up position in the rubble. No one is firing at me, probably because to take their attention of the soldiers for a second would mean death. I watch as the Peacekeeper fiddles with a boxy machine.

It clicks in my brain. Detonator.

He's going to kill the hostages.

Without thinking, I'm back on my feet. I take stock of myself-bullet wound with my so-far useless vest digging into it, jacket and pin bloody and ash-smeared, blood on my hand and face, my hair more out of it's braid than in it. I yank off my bulletproof vest, the wound singing with relief, and race down the hill. It's not smart, but I'm not thinking clearly and all I want is the pain to go away so I can focus on saving those people.

I skirt around the firefight as out of sight as I can, ducking behind wreckage until I've reached the hostages.

"Go!" I yell, yanking someone to their feet and pointing away. "Run! Run! Now!"

Too terrified to move, some of them hesitate. Then I forcefully yank them away until, one by one, yelling, they're running off. One of them gets hit in the back by a bullet but I scream to keep going.

Fire comes my way and I hit the ground. I realize I'm not alone. A little girl with wide eyes and tear tracks on her sooty cheeks huddles next to me. Her parents must be gone or they would've made sure she was safe. Her little foot is tangled in the wires.

Time is running out. They have noticed me. The Peacekeeper fiddling with the detonator will be working furiously. My heart roars in my ears and I start working at the knots. "You're gonna be okay," I promise the 's too terrified to speak.

My mother had a length of knot she tied knots in, and untied them, and knotted the string again. She did it on bad days or when she was having nightmares, or just scared. She did it a lot when she was pregnant with Asher.

I remember the look in her eyes when Asher was born. She was enamoured by him. She looked at him with such sheer joy, and she looked from him to Dad a lot, her eyes full of tears. She was so happy to have another one of my dad.

She loved me fearlessly, too. I would look up sometimes to see her watching me, and she just had this look on her face like, I can't believe how amazing she is. I would always glow when she looked at me like that.

The knots start coming undone.

Mockingjays. I think of mockingjays crossing the sky, the first time I saw one. We were at the lake, sitting on the rocks, when I was eight or nine. It was just my mother and I, and she was remembering.

She sang all of the Hanging Tree, closing her eyes. The mockingjays fell silent when she sang, and after a polite pause, their breathtakingly beautiful voices filled the air, overlapping in what seemed like hundreds of harmonies.

"Momma, teach me," I'd said, and she taught me to sing, and then to dance.

I wish I danced more. I stopped for what seems like a silly reason now.

The last knot comes undone, and I pull the little girl to her feet. She's already running, tiny arms and legs pumping, and for a moment she is me, hair flying in the leaf-dappled sunlight of the woods, running for the joy of it and nothing more. I stand staring after her.

That's when a gun goes off and the world explodes.

I am flying, and the next thing I know the sky is all I see. Blood is soaking my side, my arm, my chest, my head. I can't breathe. I choke on blood filling my throat, chest heaving, panicking.

"Help," I try to yell, but I barely hear the word.

Nononnononononono. H, please no. I don't want to die. I can't die. August! August, where is he, where is he? Somebody help me!

This can't be happening to me.

What hit me? Could be anything, really. Debris or wreckage. I think a bullet hit me somewhere. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I don't want this. I was ready to die, but that feeling is ripped away.

This can't be happening.

Smoke fills the air. It's over. The war is over. I did it. I made them come back to 12, and the hostages are saved. Everyone is going to be okay.

Aren't they?  
>These thoughts are the thoughts of someone leaving. I'm not leaving.<p>

"Help," I choke out, blood trickling down my face. I don't want to look at myself. There's something that impaled me. And I think parts of me may be missing.

"DAIE!" 

Someone races towards me, sinks to the ground. I feel my hand being grasped and a voice talking too fast, too scared for me to make out what its saying.

"August?" I whisper, coughing as blood chokes me. Please don't die, I beg myself. Please.

But I'm so tired.


	19. Chapter 19

I try to talk, desperately trying to stay alive.

"Ssshh," August whispers, gently caressing my hand. "Shhh, Daie. It's okay."

NO, it's not. It's not okay. I try to shake my head but my head lolls and I choke a little more. August rests his hand on my cheek. "It's okay," he whispers again. "You did it. Everyone's saved, Daie. You're a hero."

Some hero. I'm dying.

"I promise I'll take care of him," August chokes out. "I promise, Daie. Ash is going to be okay."

I relax all at once. Oh, oh, that helps me more than anything. But I don't want to go. I want him to stay with me.

"It's going to be okay," he says softly, and I suddenly realize he doesn't mean in the last minutes of my life, but past life. Whatever comes after.

Then he does the best possible thing he could do for me as I die, trying desperately to stay. He gives me music.

"Down in the meadow, a soft green pillow," he sings softly, gently pulling the hair from my face, and I try to focus on him but he's blurry. The sky behind me is the color of the pearl my mother wore on a ring, the one he gave her in the Quell. The sky changes the longer I look at it, and suddenly I am in woods, August's voice still echoing faintly in my head.

Where am I? I think, desperate. I whirl, terrified. Am I gone? Am I gone? I can't be! I don't want to go!

A sound nearby makes me whirl. A girl, sixteen at most, kneels by the body of a little girl wreathed in flowers. I stagger backwards at the shock of recognition- my mother and Rue.

As I watch, Rue gets to her feet, flowers wreathed around her, smiling. She opens her mouth and sings a clear little four-note run, the signal my mother is famous for. She is happy, she is healthy, and she extends a hand to me.

The trees are full of mockingjays, and people. Everyone, everyone who was lost, appears in the trees. Finnick, Prim, the tributes, the people of 12, the rebels, the children, my grandfather, Boggs, everyone.

My parents.

I run to them, my eyes full of tears, August's song fading away. Their arms are safe and wram and beautiful, and all my regrets fall away.

Goodbye, August.

August knew she was gone when her eyes didn't see and she didn't struggle to suck in air. He gently closed her eyes, folded her hands, gently kissed her forehead. His hands were covered in her blood.

He had promised her he would take care of Asher, and he would. He had promised her he would be strong, and that he would keep going, and he would. He would grieve and cry and scream in anger and grief. He would never forget her.

But for now, he watched a single mockingjay cross the sky over a desolate District 12.


	20. Chapter 20

Epilogue:

They never rebuilt 12. They plowed the ashes into the ground and planted trees. The few hundred left moved to the other districts, to 13 and the New Capitol, District 7 and it's beautiful forests, to 4 for fishing and 11 for the agriculture. It was as if it was never there, except for the memorials, the lists of the names of all who were lost in the Battle of the Peacekeepers. There was never another war in Panem. They had finally learned enough.

Asher went on to become a military strategist in 13, although they had no more war to worry about. Still, he helped build up Panem's inter-district defenses and build an army. He struggled for a long time over Daie's death, which he watched in full from the screens in Command. Eventually, he grew past it, although he still woke up screaming for her to run.

August struggled the longest over Daie's death. He never forgot her, but he kept going, only because he had made a promise. He was never the same after 12, but he learned to live in spite of the pain, instead of with it. He married late in life, working in the New Capitol and never returning to war.

And the mockingjays thrived in the ruins of 12.


End file.
